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S. G. and E. L. ELBERT 


And by the same Author, 

Just Published, 
— — 

CLOTH $1.00.— PAPER 75 CTS. 





AUTHOR OP "MY southern friends." 

(Fortieth Thousand.) 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by 
the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
Southern District of New York. 

Printer, Stereoiyper, and Electrotyper, 
(Carton iSut'Ioing, 

81, 83, arid 85 Centre Street. 










CHAPTER I.— On the Road. — Arrival at Georgetown. — The 
Village Inn. — Nocturnal Adventures. — My African Driver. — 
His Strange History. — Genuine Negro Songs. — Arrival at 

Bucksville 10 

CHAPTER H. — Wayside Hospitality. — A Strange Meeting. 
— A Well Ordered Plantation. — A Thunder-storm. — A New 
Guest. — The Hidden Springs of Secession Exposed. — On the 
Way Again. — Intelligence of the Negro. — Renconter with a 
Secessionist 30 

CHAPTER HI. — Crossing the Runs.— -The Black Declines 
His Freedom. — His Reasons for so Doing. — A " native " Abo- 
litionist. — Swimming the Run. — Black Spirits and White. — 
Shelter 55 

CHAPTER IT. — Poor Whites. — The Mills House.— South Car- 
olina Clay-Eaters. — Political Discussion. — President Lincoln a 
Negro. — " Three in a Bed and one in the Middle." — $250 re- 
ward. — A Secret League 69 

CHAPTER V.— On the Plantation.— The Planter's Dwelling. 
— His House-Keeper. — The Process of Turpentine Making. 
— Loss to Carolina by Secession. — The Dying Boy. — The Story 
of Jim. — A Northern Man with Southern Principles. — Sam 
Murdered. — Pursuit of the Overseer 94 

CHAPTER VL — The Planter's Family.— The old Nurse. — 
Her Story. — A White Slave- Woman's Opinion of Slavery. — 
The Stables. — The Negro-Quarters. — Sunday Exercises. — The 
Taking of Moye 12T 

CHAPTER Vn.— Plantation Discipline.— The " Ole Cabin." 
— The Mode of Negro Punishment. — The u Thumb-Screw."— 
A Ministering AngeL — A Negro Trial. — A Rebellion. — A Tur- 
pentine Dealer. — A Boston Dray on its Travels 150 

CHAPTER YIH. — The Negro Hunter,— Young Democrats.— 
Political Discussion. — Startling Statistics. — A Freed Negro... 169 




CHAPTER IX— The Country Church. — Its Description.— 
_ The " Corn-Cracker." — The News. — Strange Disclosure 180 

CHAPTER X.— The Negro Funeral.— The Burial Ground.— 
A Negro Sermon. — The Appearance of Juley. — The Colonel's 
Heartlessness. — The Octoroon's Explanation of it. — The Es- 
cape of Moye 196 

CHAPTER XI.— The Pursuit.— The Start.—" Carolina Race- 
Horses." — A Race. — We Lose the Trail. — A Tornado. — A 
Narrow Escape. — 207 

CHAPTER XII. — The Yankee Schoolmistress. — Our New 
Apparel. — " Kissing G-oes by Favor." — Schools at the South... 222 

CHAPTER XIIL— The Railway Station.— The Tillage.— A • 
Drunken Yankee. — A Narrow Escape. — Andy Jones. — A 
Light-Wood Fire. — The Colonel's Departure 221 

CHAPTER XIY.— The Barbacue.— The Camp-Ground.— The 
Stump-Speaker. — A Stump Speech. — Almost a Fight. — The 
Manner of Roasting the Ox 239 

CHAPTER XV.— The Return.— Arrival at the Plantation.— 
Disappearance of Juley and her child. — The Old Preacher's 
Story. — Scene Between the Master and the Slave 253 

CHAPTER XYL — "One More Unfortunate."— Attempted 
Whipping of Jim. — Appearance of the " Corn-Cracker." — 
" Drowned,— Drowned." 260 

CHAPTER XYH. — The Small Planter. — His House.— His 
Wife. — His Negroes. — A Juvenile Darky. — Lazarus in 
" Ab'ram's Buzzum." — White and Black Labor Compared. — 
The Mysteries of "Rosum" manufacture 21*1 

CHAPTER XVIIL— -The Burial op Jule.— " He Tempers the 
Wind to the Shorn Lamb."— The Funeral 295 

CHAPTER XIX. — Homeward Bound. — Colonel A 

Again. — Parting with Scipio. — Why this Book was Written. 298 

CHAPTER XX.— Conclusion.— The Author's Explanations. — 
Last News from Moye and Scipio. — Affecting Letter from 
Andy Jones.— The End 308 




Some winters ago I passed several weeks at Tallahas- 
see, Florida, and while there made the acquaintance of 

Colonel J , a South Carolina planter. Accident, 

some little time later, threw us together again at Charles- 
ton, when I was gratified to learn that he would be my 
compagnon du voyage as far north as Xew York. 

He was accompanied by his body-servant, " Jim," a 
fine specimen of the genus darky, about thirty years of 
age, and born and reared in his master's family. As 
far as possible we made the journey by day, stopping 
at some convenient resting-place by night ; on which 
occasions the Colonel, Jim, and myself would occupy 
the same or adjoining apartments, "we white folks" 
sleeping on four posts, while the more democratic negro 
spread his blanket on the floor. Thrown together thus 



intimately, it was but natural that we should learn much 
of each other. 

The " Colonel" was a highly cultivated and intelligent * 
gentleman, and during this journey a friendship sprung 
up between us— afterward kept alive by a regular coi- 
respondence — which led him, with his wife and daugh- 
ter, and the man Jim, to my house on his next visit at 
the North, one year later. I then promised — if I > 
should ever again travel in South Carolina — to visit 
him on his plantation in the extreme north-eastern part 
of the state. 

In December last, about the time of the passage of 
the ordinance of secession, I had occasion to visit 
Charleston, and, previous to setting out, dispatched a 
letter to the Colonel with the information that I was 
ready to be led of him " into the wilderness." On ar- 
riving at the head-quarters of secession, I found a 
missive awaiting me, in which my friend cordially re- 
newed his previous tender of hospitality, gave me par- 
ticular directions how to proceed, and stated that his 
" man Jim" would meet me with a carriage at George- 
town, and convey me thence, seventy miles, to " the 

Having performed the busmess which led me to 
Charleston, I set out for the rendezvous five days be- 
fore the date fixed for the meeting, intending to occupy 
the intervening time in an exploration of the ancient 
town and its surroundings. 

The little steamer Nina (a cross between a full- 




grown nautilus and a half-grown tub), which a few 
weeks later was enrolled as the first man-of-war of the 
Confederate navy, then performed the carrying trade 
between the two principal cities of South Carolina. 
On her, together with sundry boxes and bales, and 
certain human merchandise, I embarked. at Charleston, 
and on a delicious morning, late in December, landed 
at Georgetown. 

As the embryo war-steamer rounded up to the long, 
low, rickety dock, lumbered breast-high with cotton, 
turpentine, and rosin, not a white face was to be seen. 
A few half-clad, shiftless-looking negroes, lounging idly 
about, were the only portion of the population in wait- 
ing to witness our landing. 

" Are all the people dead ?" I inquired of one of 
them, thinking it strange that an event so important 
as the arrival of the Charleston packet should excite 
no greater interest in so quiet a town. " Not dead, 
massa," replied the black, with a knowing chuckle, 
" but dey'm gettin' ready for a fun'ral." " What fu- 
neral ?" I asked. " Why, dey'm gwine to shoot all de 
boblition darkies at de 1ST orf, and hab a brack burying ; 
he ! he !" and the sable gentleman expanded the open- 
ing in his countenance to an enormous extent, doubt- 
less at the brilliancy of his wit. 

I asked him to take my portmanteau, and conduct 
me to the best hotel. He readily assented, " Yas, yas, 
•massa, I show you whar de big-bugs stop ;" but at 
once turning to another darky standing near, he ac- 


costed him with, " Here, Jim, you lazy nigga, tote de 
gemman's tings." 

"Why don't you take them yourself?" I asked; 
"you will then get all the pay." "No, no, massa; 
dat nigga and me in partenship ; he do de work, and 
I keeps de change," was the grinning reply, and it ad- 
mirably illustrates a peculiarity I have observed to be 
universal with the negro. When left to his own di- 
rection, he invariably " goes into partenship" with some 
one poorer than himself, and no matter how trivial the 
task, shirks all the labor he can. 

The silent darky and my portmanteau in the van, 
and the garrulous old negro guarding my flank, I 
wended my way through the principal street to the 
hotel. On the route I resumed the conversation : 

" So, uncle, you say the people here are getting 
ready for a black burying ?" 

" Yas, massa, gwine to bury all dem mis'able free 
niggas at de Norf." 

"Why? What will you do that for?" 

" Why for, massa ! you ax why for !" he exclaimed 
in surprise. 

" I don't know," I rejoined ; " I'm a stranger here." 

" Well, you see, massa, dem boblition niggas up dar 
hab gone and 'lected a ole darky, dey call Uncle Abe ; 
and Old Abe he'se gwine to come down Souf, and cut 
de decent niggas' troats. He'll hab a good time — he 
will J My young massa's captin ob de sogers, and he'll 
cotch de ole coon, and string him up so high de crows 



won't scent him; yas, he will;" and again the old 
darky's face opened till it looked like the entrance to 
Ihe Mammoth Cave. He, evidently, had read the 
Southern papers. 

Depositing my luggage at the hotel, which I found 
on a side street — a dilapidated, unpainted_ wooden build- 
ing, with a female landlord — I started out to explore 
the town, till the hour for dinner. Retracing my steps 
in the direction of the steamboat landing, I found the 
streets nearly deserted, although it was the hour when 
the business of the day is usually transacted. Soon I 
discovered the cause. The militia of the place were 
out on parade. Preceded by a oolored band, playing 
national airs — in doleful keeping with the occasion — 
and followed by a motley collection of negroes of all 
sexes and ages, the company was entering the principal 
thoroughfare. As it passed me, I could judge of the 
prowess of the redoubtable captain, who, according to 
Pompey, will hang the President " so high de crows 
won't scent him." He was a harmless-looking young 
man, with long, spindle legs, admirably adapted to run- 
ning. Though not formidable in other respects, there was 
a certain martial air about an enormous sabre which hung 
at his side, and occasionally got entangled in his nether 
integuments, and a fiery, warlike look to the heavy tuft 
of reddish hair which sprouted in bristling defiance 
from his upper lip. 

The company numbered about seventy, some with 
uniforms and some without, and bearing all sorts of 


ari^, from the old flint-lock musket to the modern re- 
volving rifle. They were, however, sturdy fellows, and 
looked as if they might do service at " the imminent 
deadly breach*" Their full ranks taken from a popula- 
tion of less than five hundred whites, told unmistakably 
the intense war feeling of the community. 

Georgetown is one of the oldest towns in South Car- 
olina, and it has a decidedly finished appearance. Not 
a single building, I was informed, had been erected 
there in five years. Turpentine is one of the chief pro- 
ductions of the district ; yet the cost of white lead and 
chrome yellow has made paint a scarce commodity, and 
the houses, consequently, all wear a dingy, decayed 
look. Though situated on a magnificent bay, a little 
below the confluence of three noble rivers, which drain 
a country of surpassing richness, and though the centre 
of the finest rice-growing district in the world, the 
town is dead. Every thing about it wears an air of 
dilapidation. The few white men you meet in its 
streets, or see lounging lazily around its stores and 
warehouses, appear to lack all purpose and energy. 
Long contact with the negro seems to have given them 
his shiftless, aimless character. 

The ordinance of secession passed the legislature 
shortly prior to my arrival, and, as might be ex- 
pected, the political situation was the all-engrossing 
topic of thought and conversation. In the estimation 
of the whites a glorious future was about to open on 
the little state. Whether she stood alone, or sup- 


ported by the other slave states, she would assume 
a high rank among the nations of the earth ; her cot- 
ton and rice would draw trade and wealth from every 
land, and when she spoke, creation would tremble. Such 
overweening state pride in such a people — shiftless, 
indolent, aria enervated as they are — strikes a stranger 
as in the last degree ludicrous ; but when they tell you, 
in the presence of the black, whose strong brawny arm 
and sinewy frame show that in him lies the real strength 
of the state, that this great empire is to be built on the 
i shoulders of the slave, your smile of incredulity gives 
way to an expression of pity, and you are tempted to 
ask if those sinewy machines may not think, and some 
day rise, and topple down the mighty fabric which is to 
be reared on their backs ! 

Among the " peculiar institutions" of the South are 
its inns. I do not refer to the pinchbeck, imitation St. 
Nicholas establishments, which flourish in the larger 
cities, but to those home-made affairs, noted for hog and 
hominy, corn-cake and waffles, which crop out here and 
there in the smaller towns, the natural growth of South- 
ern life and institutions. A model of this class is the 
one* at Georgetown. Hog, hominy, and corn-cake for 
breakfast ; waffles, hog, and hominy for dinner ; and 
hog, hominy, and corn-cake for supper — and such corn- 
cake, baked in the ashes of the hearth, a plentiful sup- 
ply of the grayish condiment still clinging to it ! — is 
its never-varying bill of fare. I endured this fare for 
a day, how, has ever since been a mystery to me, but 



when night came my experiences were indescribable. 
Retiring early, to get the rest needed to fit me for a 
long ride on the morrow, I soon realized that "there 
is no rest for the wicked," none, at least, for sinners 
at the South. Scarcely had my head toucted the pil- 
low when I was besieged by an army ^ red-coated 
secessionists, who set upon me without mercy. I with- 
stood the assault manfully, till " bleeding at every pore," 
and then slowly and sorrowfully beat a retreat. Ten 
. tlj^msand to one is greater odds than the gallant Ander- 
son encountered at Sumter. Yet I determined not to 
fully abandon the field. Placing three chairs in a row, 
I mounted upon them, and in that seemingly impregna- 
ble position hurled defiance at the enemy, in the words 
of Scott (slightly altered to suit the occasion) : 

" Come one, come all, these chairs shall fly 
From their firm base as soon as I." 

My exultation, however, was of short duration. The 
persistent foe, scaling my intrenchments, soon re- 
turned to the assault with redoubled vigor, and in 
utter despair I finally fled. Groping my way through 
the hall, and out of the street-door, I departed. The 
Sable Brother — alias the. Son of Ham — alias the Image 
of God carved in Ebony — alias the Oppressed Type — 
alias the Contraband — alias the Irrepressible Nigger — 
alias the Chattel — alias the Darky — alias the Cullud 
Pusson — had informed me that I should find the Big 
Bugs at that hotel. I had found them. 



Staying longer in such a place was out of the ques- 
tion, and I determined to make my way to the up- 
country without longer waiting for J'uru With the 
first streak of day I sallied out to find the means of 

The ancient town boasts no public conveyance, ex- 
cept a one-horse gig that carries the mail in tri-weekly 
trips to Charleston. That vehicle, originally used by 
some New England doctor, in the early part of the 
past century, had but one seat, and besides, was not*. 
going the way I intended to take, so I was forced to 
seek a conveyance at a livery-stable. At the only 
livery establishment in the place, kept by a " cullud 
pusson," who, though a slave, owns a stud of horses 
that might, among a people more movingly, inclined, 
yield a respectable income, I found what I wanted — a 
light Newark buggy, and a spanking gray. Provided 
with these, and a darky driver, who was to accompany 
me to my destination, and return alone, I started. A 
trip of seventy miles is something of an undertaking in 
that region, and quite a crowd gathered around to wit- 
ness our departure, not a soul of whom, I will wager, 
will ever hear the rumble of a stage-coach, or the whis- 
tle of a steam-car, in those sandy, deserted streets. 

We soon left the village, and struck a broad avenue, 
lined on either side by fine old trees, and extending in an 
air-line for several miles. The road is skirted by broad 
rice-fields, and these are dotted here and there by large 
antiquated houses, and little collections of negro huts. 



It was Christmas week; no hands were busy in Mie 
fields, and every thing wore the aspect of Sunday. We 
had ridden a few miles when suddenly the road sunk 
into a deep, broad stream, called, as the driver told me, 
the Black River. No appliance for crossing being at 
hand, or in sight, I was about concluding that some 
modern Moses accommodated travellers by passing them 
over its bed dry-shod, when a flat-boat shot out from 
the jungle on the opposite bank, and pulled toward us. 
It was built of two-inch plank, and manned by two in- 
firm darkies, with frosted wool, who seemed to need all 
their strength to sit upright. In that leaky craft, kept 
afloat by incessant baling, we succeeded, at the end ol 
an hour, in crossing the river. And this, be it under 
stood, is travelling in one of the richest districts of South 
Carolina ! 

We soon left the region of the rice-fields, and plunged 
into dense forests of the long-leafed pine, wh«re for miles 
not a house, or any other evidence of human occupa 
tion, is to be seen. Nothing could well be more dreary 
than a ride through such a region, and to while away 
the tedium of the journey I opened a conversation with 
the driver, who up to that time had maintained a re- 
spe^ful silence. 

He was a genuine native African, and a most original 
and interesting specimen of his race. His thin, close- 
cut lips, straight nose and European features contrasted 
strangely with a skin of ebon blackness, and the quiet, 
simple dignity of his maimer betokened superior intel- 



ligence. His story was a strange one. When a boy, 
lie was with his mother, kidnapped by a hostile tribe, 
and sold to the traders at Cape Lopez, on the western 
coast of Africa. There, in the slave-pen, the mother 
died, and he, a child of seven years, was sent in th 
slave-ship to Cuba. At Havana, when sixteen, he at- 
tracted the notice of a gentleman residing in Charleston, 
who bought him and took him to " the States." He 
lived as house-servant in the family of this gentleman 
till 1855, when his master died, leaving him a legacy to 
a daughter. This lady, a kind, indulgent mistress, had 
since allowed him to " hire his time," and he then car- 
ried on an " independent business," as porter, and doer 
of all work around the wharves and streets of George- 
town. He thus gained a comfortable living, besides 
paying to his mistress one hundred and fifty dollars 
yearly for the privilege of earning his own support. 
In every way he was a remarkable negro, and my three 
days' acquaintance with him banished from my mind all 
doubt as to the capacity of the black for freedom, and 
all question as to the disposition of the slave to strike 
off his chains when the favorable moment arrives. From 
him I learned that the blacks, though pretending ignor- 
ance, are fully acquainted with the questions at issue in 
the pending contest. He expressed the opinion, that 
war would come in Consequence of the stand South Car- 
olina had taken ; and when I said to him : " But if it 
comes you will be no better off. It will end in a com- 
promise, and leave you where you are." He answered : 



" No, inassa, 't wont do dat. De Souf will fight hard, 
and de Norf will get de blood up, and come down har, 
and do 'way wid de cause ob all de trubble — and dat 
am de nigga." 

"But," I said, "perhaps the South will drive the 
North back ; as you say, they will fight hard." 

"Dat dey will, massa, dey'm de fightin' sort, but 
dey can't whip de Norf, 'cause you see dey'll fight wid 
only one hand. When dey fight de Norf wid de right 
hand, dey'll hev to hold de nigga wid de leff." 

" But," I replied, " the blacks wont rise ; most of 
you have kind masters and fare well." 

"Dat's true, massa, but dat an't freedom, and de 
black lub freedom as much as de white. De same 
blessed Lord made dem both, and He made dem all 
'like, 'cep de skin. De blacks hab strong hands, and 
when de day come you'll see dey hab heads, too !" 

Much other conversation, showing him possessed of a 
high degree of intelligence, passed between us. In answer 
to my question if he had a family, he said : " No, sar. 
My blood shall neber be slaves ! Ole massa flog me and 
threaten to kill me 'cause I wouldn't take to de wim- 
min; but I tole him to kill, dat 't would be more his 
loss dan mine." 

I asked if the negroes generally felt as he did, and he 
told me that many did ; that nearly all would fight for 
their freedom if they had the opportunity, though some 
preferred slavery because they were sure of being cared 
for when old and infirui, not considering that if their 



labor, while they were strong, made their masters rich, 
the same labor would afford them provision against old 
age. J3e told me that there are in the district of George- 
town twenty thousand blacks, and not more than two 
thousand whites, and " Suppose," he added, " dat one- 
quarter ob dese niggas rise — de rest keep still — whar 
den would de white folks be ?" 

u Of course, 55 I replied, " they would be taken at a 
disadvantage ; but it would not be long before aid came 
from Charleston, and you would be overpowered. 55 

" No, massa, de chivarly, as you call dem, would be 
5 way in Virginny, and 5 fore dey hard of it Massa Seward 
would hab troops 5 nough in Georgetown to chaw up de 
hull state in less dan no time. 55 

" But you have no leaders, 55 I said, u no one to direct 
the movement. Your race is not a match for the white 
in generalship, and without generals, whatever your 
numbers, you would fare hardly. 55 

To this he replied, an elevated enthusiasm lighting up 
his face, " De Lord, massa, made generals ob Gideon 
and David, and de brack man know as much 5 bout war 
as dey did ; p 5 raps, 55 he added, with a quiet humor, 
" de brack aint equal to de white. I knows most ob de 
great men, like Washington and John and James and 
Paul, and dem ole fellers war white, but dar war Two 
Sand (Tousaint L^verture), de Brack Douglass, and 
de Nigga Demus (Nicodemus), dey wax brack. 55 

The argument was unanswerable, and I said nothing. 
If the day which sees the rising of the Southern blacks 



comes to this generation, that negro will be among the 
leaders. He sang to me several of the songs current 
among the negroes of the district, and though of little 
poetic value, they interested me, as indicating the feel- 
ings of the slaves. The blacks are a musical race, and 
the readiness with which many of them improvise words 
and melody is wonderful ; but I had met none who pos- 
sessed the readiness of my new acquaintance. Several 
of the tunes he repeated several times, and each time 
with a new accompaniment of words. % will try to 
render the sentiment of a few of these songs into as 
good negro dialect as I am master of, but I cannot hope 
to repeat the precise words, or to convey the indescriba- 
ble humor and pathos which my darky friend threw in- 
to them, and which made our long, solitary ride through 
those dreary pine-barrens pass rapidly and pleasantly 
away. The first referred , to an ^)ld darky who was 
transplanted from the cotton-fields of " ole Virginny" 
to the rice-swamps of Carolina, and who did not like 
the change, but found consolation in the fact that rice is 
not grown on " the other side of Jordan." 

" Come listen, all you darkies, come listen to my song, 
It am about ole Massa, who use me bery wrong : 
In de cole, frosty mornin', it an't so bery nice, 
"Wid de water to de middle to hoe among de rice ; 
When I neber hab forgotten 
How I used to hoe de cotton, 
How I used to hoe de cotton, 
' On de ole Yirginny shore ; 


But I'll neber hoe de cotton, 
Oh! neber hoe de cotton 
Any more. 

If I feel de drefful hunger, he tink it am a vice, 
And he gib me for my dinner a little broken rice, 
A little broken rice and a bery little fat — 
And he grumble like de debil if I eat too much of dat; 
"When I neber hab forgotten, etc. 

He tore me 'from my Den t ah; I tought my heart would burst- - 
He made me lub anoder when my lub was wid de first, 
He sole my picanninnies becase he got dar price, 
And shut me in de marsh-field to hoe among de rice ; 
"When I neber had forgotten, etc. 

And all de day I hoe dar, in all de heat and rain, 
And as I hoe away dar, my heart go back again, 
Back to de little cabin dat stood among de corn, 
And to de ole plantation where she and I war born ! 
Oh ! I wish I had forgotten, etc. 

11 Den Dinah am beside me, de chil'ren on my knee, 
And dough I am a slave dar, it 'pears to me I'm free, 
Till I wake up from my dreaming, and wife and chil'ren gone, 
I hoe away and weep dar, and weep dar all alone ! 

Oh ! I wish I had forgotten, etc. 

1 But soon a day am comin, a day I long to see, 
When dis darky in de cole ground, foreber will be free, 
"When wife and chil'ren wid me, I'll sing in Paradise, 
How He, de blessed Jesus, hab bought me wid a price ; 
How de Lord hab not forgotten 
How well I hoed de cotton, 
How well I hoed de cotton 
On de ole Yirginny shore ; 


Dar I'll neber hoe de cotton, 
Oh ! neber hoe de cotton 
Any more." 

The politics of the following are not exactly those of 
the rulers at Washington, but we all may come to this 
complexion at last : 

* 1 Hark! darkies, hark! it am de drum 

Bat calls ole Massa 'way from hum, 

Wid powder-pouch and loaded gun, 

To drive ole Abe from Washington ; 
Oh! Massa's gwine to Washington, 
So clar de way to Washington — 
Oh ! wont dis darky hab sum fun 
When Massa's gwine to Washington ! 

M Dis darky know what Massa do ; 
He take him long to brack him shoe, 
To brack him shoe and tote him gun, 
When he am 'way to Washington. 

Oh ! Massa's gwine to Washington, 

So clar de way to Washington, 

Oh! long afore de mornin' sun 

Ole Massa's gwine to Washington ! 

" Ole Massa say ole Abb will eat . 
De niggas all excep' de feet — 
De feet, may be, will cut and run, 
When Massa gets to Washington, 

When Massa gets to Washington; 

So clar de way to Washington — 

Oh ! wont dis darky cut and run 
# When Massa gets to Washington! 

ON the eoad. 


" Dis nigga know ole Abe will save 
His brudder man, de darky slare, 
And dat he'll let him cut and run 
When Massa gets to Washington, 

When Massa gets to Washington ; 
So clar de way to Washington, 
Ole Abe will let the darkies run - 
When Massa gets to Washington." 

The next is in a similar vein : 

" A storm am brewin' in de Souf, 

A storm am brewin' now, 
Oh I hearken den and shut your mouf^ 

And I will tell you how : 
And I will tell you how, ole boy, 

De storm of fire will pour, 
And make de darkies dance for joy, 

As dey neber danced afore : 
So shut your mouf as close as deafh, 
And all you niggas hole your breafh. 

And I will tell you how. 

" De darkies at de Norf am ris, 

And dey am comin' down — 
Am comin' down, I know dey is, 

To do de white folks brown ! 
Dey'll turn ole Massa out to grass, 

And set de niggas free, 
And when dat day am come to pass 

We'll all be dar to see ! 
So shut your mouf as close as death, 
And 'all you niggas hole your breafh, 

And do de white folks brown I 



M Den all de week will be as gay 

As am de Chris'mas time ; 
"We'll dance all night and all de day, 

And make de banjo chime — 
And make de banjo chime, I tink, 

And pass de time away, 
Wid 'nuf to eat and 'nuf to drink, 

And not a bit to pay ! 
So shut your mouf as close as deafh, 
And all you niggas hole your breaf, 

And make de banjo chime. 

M Oh ! make de banjo chime, you nigs, 

And sound de tamborin, 
And shuffle now de merry jigs, 

For Massa's ' gwine in' — 
For Massa's 1 gwine in,' I know, 

And won't he hab de shakes, 
When Yankee darkies show him how 

Dey cotch de rattle-snakes !* 
So shut your mouf as close as deafh, 
And all you niggas hole your breaf, 

For Massa's ' gwine in' — 
For Massa's 1 gwine in,' I know, 

And won't he hab de shakes 
When Yankee darkies show him how 

Dey cotch de rattle-snakes I" 

The reader must not conclude that my darky acquaint- 
ance is an average specimen of his class. Far from it. 
Such instances of intelligence are very rare, and are 

* The emblem of South Carolina. 



never found except in the cities. There, constant inter- 
course with the white renders the black shrewd and in- 
telligent, but on the plantations, the case is different. 
And besides, my musical friend, as I have said, is a 
native African. Fifteen years of observation have con- 
vinced me that the imported negro, after being brought 
in contact with the white, is far more intelligent than 
the ordinary Southern-born black. Slavery cramps the 
intellect and dwarfs the nature of a man, and where 
the dwarfing process has gone on, in father and son, 
for two centuries, it must surely be the case — as surely 
as that the qualities of the parent are transmitted to the 
child — that the later generations are below the first. 
This deterioration in the better nature of the slave is 
the saddest result of slavery. His moral and intel- 
lectual degradation, which is essential to its very 
existence, constitutes the true argument against it. 
It feeds the body but starves the soul. It blinds 
the reason, and shuts the mind to truth. It degrades 
and brutalizes the whole being, and does it pur- 
posely. In that lies its strength, and in that, too, 
lurks the weakness which will one day topple it 
down with a crash that will shake the Continent. 
Let us hope the direful upheaving, which is now felt 
throughout the Union, is the earthquake that will bury 
it forever. 

The sun was wheeling below the -trees which skirted 
the western horizon, when we halted in the main road, 
abreast of one of those by-paths, which every traveller 



at the South recognizes as leading to a planter's house 
Turning our horse's head, we pursued this path for a 
short distance, when emerging from the pine-forest, over 
whose sandy barrens w,e had ridden all the day, a broad 
plantation lay spread out before us. On one side was 
a row of perhaps forty small but neat cabins ; and on 
the other, at the distance of about a third of a mile, a 
huge building, which, from the piles of timber near it, I 
saw was a lumber-mill. Before us was a smooth cause- 
way, extending on for a quarter of a mile, and shaded 
by large live-oaks and pines, whose moss fell in graceful 
drapery from the gnarled branches. This led to the 
mansion of the proprietor, a large, antique structure, ex- 
hibiting the dingy appearance which all houses near the 
lowlands of the South derive from the climate, but with 
a generous, hospitable air about its wide doors and bulky 
windows, that seemed to invite the traveller to the rest 
and shelter within. I had stopped my horse, and was 
absorbed in contemplation of a scene as beautiful as it 
was new to me, when an old negro approached, and 
touching his hat, said : " Massa send his comphmens to 
de gemman, and happy to hab him pass de night at 

"Bucksm7fe/" I exclaimed, "and where is the village?" 
# "Dis am it, massa; and it am eight mile and a hard 
road to de 'Boro" (meaning Conwayboro, a one-horse 
village at which I had designed to spend the night). 
"Will de gemman please ride up to de piazza?" con- 
tinued the old negro. 



" Yes, uncle, and thank you," and in a moment I had 
received the cordial welcome of the host, an elderly 
gentleman, whose easy and polished manners reminded f 
me of the times of o ir grandfathers in glorious New 
England. A few minutes put me on a footing of friend- 
ly familiarity with him and his family, and I soon found 
myself in a circle of daughters and grandchildren, and 
as much at home as if I had been a long-expected guest. 





Teahs ago — how many it would not interest the 
reader to know, and might embarrass me to mention — 
accompanied by a young woman — a blue-eyed, golden- 
haired daughter of New-England — I set out on a long 
journey; a journey so long that it will not end till one 
or the other of us has laid off forever the habiliments 
of travel. 

One of the first stations on our route was — Paris. 
While there, strolling out one morning alone, accident 
directed my steps to the Arc (TEtoUe, that magnificent 
memorial of the greatness of a great man. Ascending 
its gloomy staircase to the roof, I seated myself, to en- 
joy the fine view it affords of the city and its environs. 

I was shortly joined by a lady and gentleman, whose 
appearance indicated that they were Americans. Some 
casual remark led us into a conversation, and soon, to 
our mutual surprise and gratification, we learned that 
the lady was a dear and long-time friend of my travel- 
ling-companion. The acquaintance thus begun, has 
since grown into a close and abiding friendship. 

The reader, with this preamble, can readily imagine 
my pleasure on learning, as we were seated after our 
evening meal, around that pleasant fiieside in far-off 



Carolina, that my Paris acquaintance was a favorite 
niece, or, as he warmly expressed it, " almost a daugh- 
ter" of my host. This discovery dispelled any lingering 
feeling of " strangeness" that had not vanished with the 
first cordial greeting of my new-found friends, and made 
me perfectly " at home." 

The evening wore rapidly away in a free interchange 
of " news," opinions, and " small-talk," and I soon gath- 
ered somewhat of the history of my host. He was born 
at the North, and his career affords a striking illustra- 
tion of the marvellous enterprise of our Northern char- 
acter. A native of the State of Maine, he emigrated 
thence when a young man, and settled down, amid 
the pine-ferest in that sequestered part of Cottondom. 
Erecting a small saw-mill, and a log shanty to shelter 
himself and a few " hired" negroes, he attacked, with his 
own hands, the mighty pines, whose brothers still tower 
in gloomy magnificence around his dwelling. 

From such beginnings he had risen to be one of the 
wealthiest land and slave owners of his district, with 
vessels trading to nearly every quarter of the globe, 
to the Northern and Eastern ports, Cadiz, the West 
Indies, South America, and if I remember aright, Cali- 
fornia. It seemed to me a marvel that this man, alone, 
and unaided by the usual appliances of commerce, had 
created a business, rivalling in extent the transactions of 
many a princely merchant of New York and Boston. 

His " family" of slaves numbered about three hundred, 
and a more healthy, and to all appearance, happy set of 



laboring people, I had never seen. Well fed, comforta- 
bly and almost neatly clad, with tidy and well-ordered 
.homes, exempt from labor in childhood and advanced 
age, and cared for in sickness by a kind and considerate 
mistress, who is the physician and good Samaritan of the 
village, they seemed to share as much physical enjoy 
ment as ordinarily falls to the lot of the " hewer of wood 
and drawer of water." Looking at them, I began to 
question if Slavery is, in reality, the damnable thing that 
some untravelled philanthropists have pictured it. If 
— and in that " if" my good Abolition friend, is the only 
unanswerable argument against the institution— if they 
were taught, if they knew their nature and their destiny, 
the slaves of such an owner might unprofitably exchange 
situations with many a white man, who, with nothing 
in the present or the future, is desperately struggling for 
a miserable hand-to-mouth Bxistence in our Northern 
cities. I say " of such an owner," for in the Southern Ar- 
cadia such masters are " few and far between" — rather 
fewer and farther between than " spots upon the sun." 

But they are not taught. Public sentiment, as well 
as State law, prevents the enlightened master, who 
would fit the slave by knowledge for greater usefulness, 
from letting a ray of light in upon his darkened mind. 
The black knows his task, his name, and his dinner-hour. 
He knows there is a something within him — he does not. 
understand precisely what — that the white man calls his 
soul, which he is told will not rest in the ground when 
his body is laid away in the grave, but will — if he is a 



" good nigger," obeys his master, and does the task 
allotted him — travel off to some unknown region, and 
sing hallelujahs to the Lord, forever. He rather sensi- 
bly imagines that such everlasting singing may in time 
pr'oduce hoarseness, so he prepares his vocal organs for 
the long concert by a vigorous discipline while here, and 
at the same time cultivates instrumental music, having 
a dim idea that the Lord has an ear for melody, and 
will let him, when he is tired of singing, vary the exer- 
cise " wid de banjo and de bones." This is all he knows ; 
and his owner, however well-disposed he may be, cannot 
teach him more. Xoble, Christian masters whom I have 
met — have told me that they did not dare instruct their 
slaves. Some of their negroes were born in their houses, 
nursed in their families, and have grown up the play- 
mates of Jheir children, and yet they are forced to see 
them live and die like the J$rutes. One need not be ac- 
cused of fanatical abolitionism if he deems such a sys- 
tem a little in conflict with the spirit of the nineteenth 
century ! 

The sun had scarcely turned his back upon the world, 

when a few drops of rain, sounding on the piazza-roof 

over our heads, announced a coming storm. Soon it 

burst upon us in magnificent fury — a real, old-fashioned 

thunderstorm, such as I used to he awake and listen to 

when a boy, wondering all the while if the angels were 

keeping a Fourth of July in heaven. In the midit of it, 

when the earth and the sky appeared to have met in 

true Waterloo fashion, and the dark branches of the 



pines seemed writhing and tossing in a sea of flame, a 
loud knock came at the hall-door (bells arc not the 
fashion in Dixie), and a servant soon ushered into the 
room a middle-aged', unassuming gentleman, whom 
my host received with a respect and cordiality which 
indicated that he w T as no ordinary guest. There was in 
his appearance and manner that indefinable something 
which denotes the man of mark ; but my curiosity was 
soon gratified by an introduction. It was " Colonel" 
A . This title, I afterward learned, was merely hon- 
orary : and I may as well remark here, that nearly every 
one at the South who has risen to the ownership of a 
negro, is eithe- a captain, a major, or a colonel, or, as 
my ebony driver expressed it : " Dey 'm all captins and 
mates, wid none to row de boat but de darkies." On 
hearing the name, I recognized it as that of 4 one of the 
oldest and most aristocratic South Carolina families, and 
the new guest as a near relative to the gentleman who 
married the beautiful and ill-fated Theodosia Burr. 

In answer to an inquiry of my host, the new-comer 
explained that he had left Colonel J 's (the planta- 
tion toward which I was journeying), shortly before 
noon, and being overtaken by the storm after leaving 
Conwayboro, had, at the solicitation of his " boys" (a 
familiar term for slaves), who were afraid to proceed, 
called to ask shelter for the night. 

Shortly after his entrance, the lady members of the fam- 
ily retired ; and then the " Colonel," the " Captain," and 
myself, drawing our chairs near the fire, and each light- 



ing a fragrant Havana, placed on the table by our host, 
fell into a long conversation, of which the following was 
a jjart : 

" [t must have been urgent business, Colonel, that 
took you so far into the woods at this season," remarked 
our host. 

"These are urgent times, Captain B ," replied 

the guest. " All who have any thing at stake, should be 

" These are unhappy times, truly," said my friend ; 
" has any thing new occurred ?" 

" Nothing of moment, sir ; but we are satisfied Bu- 
chanan is playing us false, and are preparing for the 

"I should be sorry to know that a President of the 
United States had resorted to underhand measures ! 
Has he really given you pledges ?" 

" He promised to preserve the statu quo in Charles- 
ton harbor, and we have direct information that he in 
tends to send out reinforcements," rejoined Colonel 
A . 

" Can that be true ? You know, Colonel, I never ad- 
mired your friend, Mr. Buchanan, but I cannot see 
how, if he does his duty, he can avoid enforcing the 
laws in Charleston, as well as in the other cities of the 

" The 4 Union,' sir, does not exist. Buchanan has now 
no more right to quarter a soldier in South Carolina than 
I have to march an armed force on to Boston Common. 



If he persists in keeping troops near Charleston, we 
shall dislodge them." 

" But that would make war ! and war, Colonel," re- 
plied our host, " would be a terrible thing. Do you re- 
alize what it would bring upon us ? And what could 
our little State do in a conflict with nearly thirty mil- 
lions ?" 

"We should not fight with thirty millions. The 
other Cotton States are with us, and the leaders in the 
Border States are pledged to Secession. They will 
wheel into line when we give the word. But the North 
will not fight. The Democratic party sympathizes 
with us, and some of its influential leaders are pledged 
to our side. They will sow division there, and paralyze 
the Free States ; besides, the trading and manufacturing 
classes will never consent to a war that will work their 
ruin. With the Yankees, sir, the dollar is almighty." 

" That may be true," replied our host ; " but I think 
if we go too far, they will fight. What think you, Mr. 

K ?" he continued, appealing to me, and adding : 

"This gentleman, Colonel, is very recently from the 

Up to that moment, I had avoided taking part in the 
conversation. Enough had been said to satisfy me that 
while my host was a staunch Unionist,* his visitor was 

* I very much regret to learn, that since my meeting with this most excellent 
gentleman, being obnoxious to the Secession leaders for his well-known Union 
sentiments, he has been very onerously assessed by them for contributions for 
carrying on the war. The sum he has been forced to pay, is stated as high as 
forty thousand dollars, but that maybe, and I trust is, an exaggeration. In ad* 



not only a rank Secessionist, but one of the leaders of 
the movement, and even then preparing for desperate 
measures. Discretion, therefore, counselled silence. 
To this direct appeal, however, I was forced to reply, 
and answered : " I think, sir, the North does not yet 
realize that the South is in earnest. When it wakes up 
to that fact, its course will be decisive." 

" Will the Yankees fight, sir ?" rather impatiently 
and imperiously asked the Colonel, who evidently 
thought I intended to avoid a direct answer to the 

Rather nettled by his manner, I quickly responded : 
" Undoubtedly they will, sir. They have fought before, 
and it would not be wise to count them cowards." 

A true gentleman, he at once saw that his manner 
had given offence, and instantly moderating his tone, 
rather apologetically replied : " Not cowards, sir, but 
too much absorbed in the 1 occupations of peace,' to go 
to war for an idea." 

"But what you call an 'idea,'" said our host, "they 
may think a great fact on which their existence depends. 
I can see that we will lose vastly by even "a peaceful 
separation. Tell me, Colonel, what we will gain ?" 

" Gain !" warmly responded the guest. " Every thing! 
Security, freedom, room for the development of our in- 

dition — and this fact is within my own knowledge — five of his vessels Lave been 
seized in the Northern ports by onr Government. This exposure of true Union 
men to a double fire, is one of the most unhappy circumstances attendant upon 
this most unhappy war. 



stitutions, and such progress in wealth as the world has 
never seen." 

"All that is very fine," rejoined the "Captain," "but 
where there is wealth, there must be work ; and who 
will do the work in your new Empire — I do not mean 
the agricultural labor; you will depend for that, of 
course, on the blacks — but who will run your manufac- 
tories and do your mechanical labor? The Southern 
gentleman would feel degraded by such occupation ; and 
if you put the black to any work requiring intelligence, 
you must let him think, and when he thinks, he is 

" All that is easily provided for," replied the Secession- 
ist. " We shall form intimate relations with England. 
She must have our cotton, and we in return will take 
her manufactures." 

" That would be all very well at present, and so long as 
you should keep on good terms with her ; but suppose, 
some fine morning, Exeter Hall got control of the Eng- 
lish Government, and hinted to you, in John Bull fash- 
ion, that cotton produced by free labor would be more 
acceptable, what could three, or even eight millions, cut 
off from the sympathy and support of the North, do in 
opposition to the power of the British empire ?" 

" Nothing, perhaps, if we were three or even eight 
millions, but we shall be neither one nor the other. 
Mexico and Cuba are ready, now, to fall into our hands, 
and before two years have passed, with or without the 
Border States, we shall count twenty millions. Long 



before England is abolitionized, our population will out- 
number hers, and our territory extend from the Atlantic 
to the Pacific, and as far south as the Isthmus. We are 
founding, sir, an empire that will be able to defy all 
Europe — one grander than the world has seen since the 
age of Pericles !" 

" You say, with or without the Border States," re- 
marked our host. u I thought you counted on their 

" We do if the North makes war irpon us, but if al- 
lowed to go in peace, we can do better without them. 
They will be a wall between us and the abolitionized 

"You mistake," I said, u in thinking the North is abo- 
litionized. The Abolitionists are but a handful there. 
The great mass of our people are willing the South 
should have undisturbed control of its domestic concerns." 

" Why, then, do you send such men as Seward, Sum- 
ner, Wilson, and Grow to Congress ? Why have you 
elected a President who approves of nigger-stealing ? 
and why do you tolerate such incendiaries as Greeley, 
Garrison, and Phillips ?" « 

" Seward, and the others you name," I replied, " are 
not Abolitionists ; neither does Lincoln approve of nig- 
ger-stealing. He , is an honest man, and I doubt not, 
when inaugurated, will da exact justice by the South. 
As to incendiaries, you find them in both sections. 
Phillips and Garrison are only the opposite poles of 
Yancey and Wise." 



" Not so, sir ; they are more. Phillips, Greeley, and 
Garrison create and control your public opinion. They 
are mighty powers, while Yancey and Wise have no 
influence whatever. Yancey is a mere bag-pipe ; we 
play upon him, N and like the music, but smile when he 
attempts to lead us. Wise is a harlequin ; we let him 
dance because he is good at it, and it amuses us. Lin- 
coln may be honest, but if made President he will be 
controlled by Seward, who hates the South. Seward 
will whine, and wheedle, and attempt to cajole us back, 
but mark what I say, sir, I Tcnoio him ; he is physically, 
morally, and constitutionally a toward, and will never 
strike a blow for the Union. If hard pressed by public 
sentiment, he may, to save appearances, bluster a little, 
and make a show of getting ready for a fight ; but he 
will find some excuse at the last moment, and avoid 
coming to blows. For our purposes, we had rather 
have the North under his control than under that of the 
old renegade, Buchanan !" 

" All this may be very true," I replied, " but perhaps 
you attach too much weight to what Mr. Seward or 
Mr. Lincoln may or may not do. You seem to forget 
that there are twenty intelligent millions at the North, 
who will have something to say on this subject, and 
who may not consent to be driven into disunion by the 
South, or wheedled into it by Mr.-Seward." 

" I do not forget," replied the Secessionist, " that you 
have four millions of brave, able-bodied men, while we 
have not, perhaps, more than two millions ; but bear in 



mind that you are divided, and therefore weak; we 
united, and therefore strong V 9 

" But," I inquired, " have you two millions without 
counting your blacks ; and are they not as likely to 
fight on the wrong as on the right side ?" 

" They will fight on the right side, sir. We can trust 
them. You have travelled somewhat here. Have you 
not been struck with the contentment and cheerful sub- 
jection of the slaves ?" 

" £To, sir, I have not been ! On the contrary, their 
discontent is evident. You are smoking a cigar on a 

An explosion of derisive laughter from the Colonel 
followed this remark, and turning to the Captain, he 
good-humoredly exclaimed : " Hasn't the gentleman 
used his eyes and ears industriously !" 

" I am afraid he is more than half right," was the re- 
ply. " If this thing should go on, I would not trust my 
own slaves, and I think they are truly attached to me. 
If the fire once breaks out, the negroes will rush into it, 
like horses into a burning barn." 

" Think you so !" exclaimed the Colonel in an excited 
manner. " By Heaven, if I believed it, I would cut the 
throat of every slave in Christendom ! What," address- 
ing me, "have you seen or heard, sir, that gives you 
that opinion ?" 

" Nothing but a sullen discontent and an eagerness 
for news, which show they feel intense interest in what 
is going on, and know it concerns them? 9 


" I haven't remarked that," he said rather musingly, 
" but it may be so. Does the North believe it ? If we 
came to blows, would they try to excite servile insur- 
rection among us ?" 

" The North, beyond a doubt, believes it," I replied, 
" yet I think even the Abolitionists would aid you in 
putting down an insurrection ; but war, in my opinion, 
would not leave you a slave between the Rio Grande 
and the Potomac." 

The Colonel at this rose, remarking : " You are 
mistaken. You are mistaken, sir !" then turning 
to our host, said: "'Captain, it is late: had we not 
better retire ?" Bidding me " good-night," he was 

Our host soon returned from showing the guest to 
his apartment, and with a quiet but deliberate manner, 

said to me : " You touched him, Mr. K , on a point 

where he knows we are weakest ; but allow me to cau- 
tion you about expressing your opinions so freely. The 
Colonel is a gentleman, and what you have .said will do 
no harm, but, long as I have lived here, I dare not say 
to many what you have said to him to-night." w§ 

Thanking the worthy gentleman for the caution, I 
followed him up stairs, and soon lost, in a sweet ob- 
livion, all thoughts of Abolitionists, niggers, and the 
" grand empire." 

iwas awakened in the morning by music under my 
window, and looking out discovered about a dozen dar- 
kies gathered around my ebony driver, who was claw- 



mg away with all his might at a dilapidated banjo, 
while his auditory kept time to his singing, by striking 
the hand on the knee, and by other gesticulations too 
numerous to mention. The songs were not much to 
boast of, but the music was the genuine, dyed-in-the- 
wool, darky article. The following was. the refrain of 
one of the songs, which the reader will perceive was an 
exhortation to early rising : 

" So up, good massa, let's be gwoin', 
Let's be scratch in' ob de grabble ; 
For soon de wind may be a blowin', 
An' we' se a sorry road to trabble." 

The storm of the previous night had ceased, but the 
sky was overcast, and looked as if " soon de wind might 
be a-blowin'." Prudence counselled an early start, for, 
doubtless, the runs, or small creeks, had become swollen 
by the heavy rain, and would be unsafe to cross after 
dark. Besides, beyond Conwayboro, our route lay for 
thirty miles through a country without a solitary house 
where we could get decent shelter, were we overtaken 
by a storm. 

Hurriedly performing my toilet, I descended to the 
drawing-room, where I found the family assembled. 
After the usual morning salutations were exchanged, a 
signal from the mistress caused the sounding of a bell 
in the hall, and some ten or twelve men and women 
house-servants, of remarkably neat and tidy appearance, 
among whom was my darky driver, entered the apart- 



inent. They took a stand at the remote end of the 
room, and our host, opening a large, well-worn family 
Bible, read the fifty-fourth chapter of Isaiah. Then, 
all kneeling, he made a short extemporaneous petition, 
closing with the Lord's Prayer ; all present, black as 
well as white, joining in it. Then Heber's beautiful 
hymn, " From Greenland's icy mountains," was sung ; 
the negroes, to my ear, making much better music 
than the whites. 

The services over, we adjourned to the dining-room, 
and after we were seated, the " Colonel" remarked to 
me : " Did you notice how finely that negro 6 boy' (he 
was fully forty years old) sung ?" 

" Yes," I replied, " I did. Do you know him, sir ?" 

" Oh ! yes, very well. His mistress wishes to sell 
him, but finds difficulty in doing so. Though a likely 
negro, people will not buy him. He's too smart." 

" That strikes me as a singular objection," I remarked. 

" Oh ! no, not at all ! These knowing niggers fre- 
quently make a world of trouble on a plantation." 
4? It was after ten o'clock when we were ready to 
start. The mills, the negro-quarters, and various other 
parts of the plantation, and then several vessels moored 
at the wharf, had to be seen before I could get away. 
Finally, I bade my excellent host and his family farewell, 
and with nearly as much regret as I ever felt at leaving 
my own home. I had experienced the much-heard-ot 
Southern hospitality, and had found the report far be- 
low the reality. 



The other guest had taken his leave some time before, 
but not till he had given me a cordial invitation to re- 
turn by the way I came, and spend a day or two with 
him, at his plantation on the river, some twenty miles 

The sky was lowery, and the sandy road heavy with 
the recent rain, when we started. The gloomy weather 
seemed to have infected the driver as well as myself, 
lie had lost the inii'thlulness and loquacity of the pre- 
vious day, and we rode on for a full hour in silence. 
Tiring at last of my own thoughts, I said to him: 
" Scip, what is the matter with you ? what makes 
you so gloomy ?" 

• " jSTufhn, massa ; I war only tinkin'," he abstractedly 

" And what are you thinking about ?" 

" I's wond'rin', massa, if de Lord mean de darkies in 

dose words of His dat Massa B read dis mornin'." 

" What words do you mean ? 

" Dese, massa : ' O dou 'fflicted ! tossed wid de tem- 
pest, and habin no comfort, behold, I will make you hous'n » 
ob de fair colors, and lay dar foundations wid safo- 
rnires. All dy chil'ren shill be taught ob de Lord, and 
great shill be dar peace. In de right shill dey be 'stab- 
lished ; dey shill hab no fear, no terror ; it shan't come 
nigh 'em, and who come against dem shill fall. Behold ! 
I hab make de blacksmif dat blow de coals, and make 
de weapons ; and I hab make de waster dat shill destroy 
de oppressors.' " 



If he had repeated one of Webster's orations I should 
not have been more astonished. I did not remember 
the exact words of the passage, but I knew he had 
caught its spirit. Was this his recollection of the read- 
ing heard in the morning ? or had he previously com- 
mitted it to memory ? These questions I asked my- 
self; but, restraining my curiosity, I answered : " Un- 
doubtedly they are meant for both the black and the 

" Do dey mean, massa, dat we shall be like de wite 
folks — wid our own hous'n, our chil'ren taught in de 
schools, and wid weapons to strike back when dey 
strike us ?" 

" No, Scipio, they don't mean that. They refer prin- 
cipally to spiritual matters. They were a promise to all 
the world that when the Saviour came, all, even the 
greatly oppressed and afflicted, should hear the great 
truths of the Bible about God, Redemption, and the 

u But de Saviour hab come, massa ; and dose tings 
an't taught to de black chil'ren. We hab no peace, no 
rights ; numn buf fear, 'pression, and terror." 

u That is true, Scipio. The Lord takes His own 
time, but His time will surely come." 

" De Lord bless you, massa, for saying dat ; and de 
Lord bless you for telling dat big Gunnel, dat if dey 
gwo to war de brack man will be Free !" 

" Did you hear what we said ?" I inquired, greatly 
surprised, for I remembered remarking, during the in- 



terview of the previous evening, that our host carefully 
kept the doors closed. 
" Ebery word, massa." 

" But how could you hear ? The doors and windows 
were shut. Where were you ?" 

" On de piazzer ; and when I seed fru de winder dat 
de ladies war gwine, I know'd you'd talk 'bout politics 
and de darkies — gemmen allers do. So I opened de 
winder bery softly — you didn't har 'cause it rained and 
blowed bery hard, and made a mighty noise. Den I 
stuffed my coat in de crack, so de wind could'nt blow in 
and lef you know I wus dar, but I lef a hole big 'nough 
to har. My ear froze to dat hole, massa, bery tight, I 
•'shore you." 

" But you must have got very wet and very cold." 

" Wet, massa ! wetter dan a 'gator dat's been in de 
riber all de week, but I didn't keer for de rain or de 
cold. What I hard made me warm all de way fru." 

To my mind there was a rough picture of true hero- 
ism in that poor darky standing for hours in his shirt- 
sleeves, in the cold, stormy night, the lightning playing 
about him, and the rain drenching him to the skin — 
that he might hear something he thought would benefit 
his down-trodden race. 

I noticed his clothing though bearing evident marks 
of a drenching, was then dry, and I inquired: "How 
did you dry your clothes ?" 

" I staid wid some ob de cullud folks, and arter you 
g woes up stars, I went to dar cabin, and dey gabe me 



some dry does. We made up a big fire, and hung 
mine up to dry, and de ole man and woman and me sot 
up all night and talked ober what you and de ouer gem- 
men said." 

" Will not those folks tell what you did, and thus get 
you into trouble ?" 

" Tell ! Lord bless you, massa, de bracks am all free- 
masons / dat ar ole man and woman wud die 'fore dey'd 

" But are not Captain B 's negroes contented ?" 

I asked ; " they seem to be well treated." 

" Oh ! yas, dey am. All de brack folks 'bout har want 
de Captin to buy 'em. He bery nice man — one ob de 
Lord's own people. He better man dan David, 'caus^ 
David did wrong, and I don't b'lieve de Captin eber did." 

" I should think he was a very good man," I replied. 

" Bery good man, massa, but de white folks don't 
like him, 'cause dey say he treats him darkies so well, 
all dairn am uncontented." 

"Tell me, Scipio," I resumed after a while, "how it 
is you can repeat that passage from Isaiah so well ?" 

" Why, bless you, massa, I know Aziar and Job and 
de Psalms 'most all by heart. Good many years ago, 
when I lib'd in Charles'on, the gub'ness learned me to 
: read, and I hab read dat Book fru good many times." 

" Have you read any others ?" I asked. 

" None but dat and Doctor Watts. I hab dem, but 
wite folks wont sell books to de bracks, and I wont 
steal 'em. I read de papers sometimes." 



I opened my portmanteau, that lay on the floor of the 
wagon, and handed him a copy of Whittier's poem?. It 
happened to be the only book, excepting the Bible, 
that I had with me. 

"Read that, Scipio," I said. "It is a book of poetry, 
but written by a good man at the North, -who greatly 
pities the slave." 

He took the book, and the big tears rolled down his 
cheeks, as he said : " Tank you, massa, tank you. No- 
body war neber so good to me afore." 

During our conversation, the sky, which had looked 
threatening all the morning, began to let fall the big 
drops of rain ; and before we reached Conwayboro, it 
poured down much after the fashion of the previous 
night. It being cruelty to both man and beast to re- 
main out in such a deluge, we pulled up at the village 
hotel (kept, like the one at Georgetown, by a lady), 
and determined to remain overnight, unless the rain 
should abate in time to allow us to reach our destination 
before dark. 

Dinner being ready soon after our arrival (the people 
of Conwayboro, like the "common folks" that Davy 
Crockett told about, dine at twelve), I sat down to it, 
first hanging my outer garments, which were somewhat 
wet, before the fire in the sitting-room. The house 
seemed to be a sort of public boarding-house, as well as 
hotel, for quite a number of persons, evidently towns- 
people were at the dinner-table. My appearance attract- 
ed some attention, though not more, I thought, than 



would be naturally excited in so quiet a place "by the 
arrival of a stranger ; but " as nobody said nothing to 
me, I said nothing to nobody." 

Dinner over, I adjourned to the " sitting-room," and 
Beating myself by the fire, watched the drying of my 
" outer habiliments." While thus engaged, the door 
opened, and three men — whom I should have taken for 
South Carolina gentlemen, had not a further acquaint- 
ance convinced me to the contrary — entered «f,he room. 
Walking directly up to where I was sittings the fore- 
most one accosted me something after this manner: 

" I see you are from the North, sir." 

Taken a little aback by the abruptness of the " salute," 
but guessing his object, I answered: "No, sir; lam 
from the South." 

" From what part of the South ?" 

"I left Georgetown yesterday, and Charleston two 
days before that," I replied, endeavoring to seem entirely 
oblivious to his meaning. 

" We don't want to know Vhar you war yesterday m T 
we want to know whar you belong" he said, with a lit- 
tle impatience. 

" Oh ! that's it. Well, sir, I belong here just at pres- 
ent, or rather I shall, when I have paid the landlady for 
my dinner." 

Annoyed by my coolness, and getting somewhat ex- 
cited, he replied quickly: "You mustn't trifle with us, 
sir. We know you. You're from the North. We've 
seen it on your valise, and we can't allow a man who 



carries the New York Independent to travel in South 

The scoundrels had either broken into my portman- 
teau, or else a copy of that paper had dropped from it 
on to the floor of the wagon when I gave the book to 
Scipio. At any rate, they had seen it, and it was evident 
" Brother Beecher" was getting me into a scrape. I 
felt indignant at the impudence of the fellow, but de- 
termined to keep cool, and, a little sarcastically, replied 
to the latter part of his remark : 

" That's a pity, sir. South Carolina will lose by it." 

"This game wont work, sir. We don't want such 
people as you har, and the sooner you make tracks the 

" I intend to leave, sir, as soon as the rain is over, and 
shall travel thirty miles on your sandy roads to-day, if 
you don't coax me to stay here by your hospitality," I 
quietly replied. 

The last remark was just the one drop needed to make 
his wrath "bile over," and he savagely exclaimed : " I tell 
you, sir, we will not be trifled with. You must be off 
to Georgetown at once. You can have just half an hour 
to leave the Boro', not a second more." 

His tone and manner aroused what little combative- 
ness there is in me. Rising from my chair, and taking 
up my outside-coat, in which was one of Colt's six 
shooters, I said to him: " Sir, I am here, a peaceable man, 
on peaceable, private business. I have started to go up 
the country, and go there I shall ; and I shall leave this 



place at my convenience — not before. I have endured 
your impertinence long enough, and shall have no more 
of it. If you attempt to interfere with my movements, 
you will do so at your peril." 

My blood was up, and I was fast losing that better 
part of valor called discretion ; and he evidently under- 
stood my movement, and did not dislike the turn affairs 
were taking. There is no telling what might have fol- 
lowed had not Scip just at that instant inserted his 
woolly head between us, excitedly exclaiming : " Lord 

bless you, Massa B 11 ; what am you 'bout ? Why, 

dis gemman am a 'ticlar friend of Cunnel A . He'm 

a reg'lar sesherner. He hates de ablisherners worser 
dan de debbie. I hard him swar a clar, blue streak 
'bout dem only yesterday." 

" Massa B 11" was evidently taken aback by the 

announcement of the negro, but did not seem inclined 
to " give it up so" at once, for he asked : " How do you 
know he's the Colonel's friend, Scip ? Who told you 

" Who told me so ?" exclaimed the excited negro, 

" wh^, didn't he stay at Captin B 's, wid de Cunnel, 

all night last night ; and didn't dey set up dar doin' 
politic business togedder till arter midnight? Didn't 
de Cunnel come dar in all de storm 'pressly to see dis 
gemman ?" 

The ready wit and rude eloquence of the darky amused 
me, and the idea of the " Cunnel" travelling twenty miles 
through the terrible storm of the previous night to meet 



a man who had the New York Independent about him, 
was so perfectly ludicrous, that I could not restrain my 
laughter. That laugh did the business for "Massa 

13 11." What the negro had said staggered, but 

did not convince him ; but my returning good-humor 
brought him completely round. Extending his hand to 
me, he said : " I see, sir, I've woke up the wrong pas- 
senger. Hope you'll take no offence. In these times we 
need to know who come among us." 

" No offence whatever, sir," I replied. " It is easy to 
be mistaken ; but." I added smilingly, " I hope, for the 
sake of the next traveller, you'll be less precipitate an- 
other time." 

" I am rather hasty ; that's a fact," he said. " But 
no harm is done. So let's take a drink, and say no more 
about it. The old lady har keeps nary a thing, but we 
can get the raal stuff close by." 

Though not a member of a " Total Abstinence So- 
ciety," I have always avoided indulging in the quality 
of fluid that is the staple beverage at the South. I there- 
fore hesitated a moment before accepting the gentle- 
man's invitation ; but the alternative seemed to be 
squarely presented, pistols or drinks ; cold lead or poor 
whiskey > and — I am ashamed to confess it — I took the 

Returning to the hotel, I found Scip awaiting me. 
" Massa," he said, u we better be gwine. Dat dar sesh-- 
erner am ugly as de bery ole debble ; and soon as he 



knows I cum de possum ober him 'bout de Cunnel,, he'll 
be down on you shore" 

The rain had dwindled to a drizzle, which the sun was 
vigorously struggling to get through with a tolerable 
prospect of success, and I concluded to take the African's 
advice. Wrapping myself in an India-rubber overcoat, 
and giving the darky a blanket of the same material, I 





The long, tumble-down bridge which spans the Wac- 
camaw at Conwayboro, trembled beneath our horse's 
tread, as with lengthened stride he shook the secession 
mud from his feet, and whirled us along into the dark, 
deep forest. It may have been the exhilaration of a 
hearty dinner of oats, or it may have been sympathy 
with the impatience of his fellow-travellers that spurred 
him on ; whichever it was, away he went as if Lucifer — 
that first Secessionist — were following close at his heels. 

The sun, which for a time had been industriously 
wedging his way into the dark masses of cloud, finally 
slunk out of sight and left us enveloped in a thick fog, 
which shut from view all of Cottondom, except a nar- 
row belting of rough pines, and a few rods of sandy 
road that stretched out in dim perspective before us. 
There being nothing in the outside creation to attract 
my attention, I drew the apron of the carriage about 
me, and settling myself well back on the seat to avoid 
the thick-falling mist, fell into a train of dreamy reflec- 

Niggers, slave-auctions, cotton-fields, rice-swamps, and 
King Cotton himself, that blustering old despot, with 
his swarthy arms and " under-pinning,' 7 ' his face of brass, 



and body of " raw material," passed through my mind, 
like Georgia trains through the Oconee Swamp, till 
finally my darky friend came into view. He seemed at 
first a little child, amid the blazing ruins of his wilder- 
ness home, gazing in stupid horror on the burning bod- 
ies of his father and his kindred. Then he was kneel- 
ing at the side of his dying mother in the slave-pen at 
Cape Lopez, and — still a child — cooped in the " Black- 
hole" of the accursed slave-ship, his little frame burn- 
ing with the fever-fire, and his child-heart longing for 
death. Then he seemed mounting the Cuban slave- 
block, and -as the "going! going ! w gone !" rung in my 
ear, he was hurried away, and driven to the cruel task — 
still a child — on the hot, unhealthy sugar-field. Again 
he appeared, stealing away at night to a lonely hut, and 
by the light of a pine-knot, wearily poring over the 
Book of Books, slowly putting letters into words, and 
words into sentences, that he might know " What God 
says to the black manP Then he seemed a man — splen- 
did of frame, noble of soul — suspended in the whipping- 
rack, his arms bound above his head, his body resting 
on the tips of his toes, and the merciless lash falling on 
his bare back, till the red stream ran from it like a river 
— scourged because he would not aid in creating beings 
as wretched as himself, and make merchandise of his 
own blood to gorge the pocket of an incarnate white 

As these things passed before me, and I thought of 
his rare intelligence, of his fine traits of character, and 



of the true heroism he had shown in risking, perhaps, 
his own life to get me — a stranger — out cf an ugly hob- 
ble, I felt a certain spot in my left side warming toward 
him, very much as it might have done had his blood 
been as pure as my own. It seemed to me a pity — anti- 
Abolitionist and Southern-sympathizer though I was — 
that a man of such rare natural talent, such character 
and energy, should have his large nature dwarfed, be 
tethered for life to a cotton-stalk, and made to wear his 
soul out in a tread-mill, merely because his skin had a 
darker tinge and his shoe a longer heel than mine. 

As I mused over his " strange, eventful history," and 
thought of the handy way nature has of putting the 
right man in the wrong place, it occurred to me how 
" Brother Beecher" one evening, not a long time before, 
had charmed the last dollar from my waistcoat pocket 
by exhibiting, d la Barnum, a remarkably ugly u cullud 
pusson" on his pulpit stairs, and by picturing the awful 
doom which awaited her — that of being reduced from 
baby-tending to some less useful employment — if his 
audience did not at once "do the needful." Then it 
occurred to me how much finer a spectacle my ebony 
friend would make ; how well his six feet of manly sinew 
would grace those pulpit stairs ; how eloquently the rev- 
erend gentleman might expatiate on the burning sin of 
shrouding the light of such an intellect in the mists of 
niggerdom, only to see it snuffed out in darkness ; how 
he might enlarge on what the black could do in ele- 
vating his race, either as " cullud" assistant to " Brother 



Pease" at the Five-Points, or as co-laborer with Fred 
Douglass at abolition conventions, or, if that did'nt^ay, 
how, put into the minstrel business, he might run the 
white " troupes" off the track, and yield a liberal reve- 
nue to the "Cause of Freedom." As I thought of the 
probable effect of this last appeal, it seemed to me that 
the thing was already done, and that Scip w r as Free. 

I got back from dreamland by the simple act of 
opening my eyes, and found myself still riding along in 
that Jersey wagon, over that heavy, sandy road, and 
drenched with the mists of that dreary December day. 
The reverie made, however, a deep impression on me, 
and I gave vent to it somewhat as follows : 

" Colonel A tells me, Scip, that your mistress 

wants to sell you. Do you know what she asks ?" 

"She ax fifteen hundred dollar, massa, but I an't 
worth dat now. Nigger property's mighty low." 

" What is your value now ?" 

"P'raps eight hundred, p'raps a thousand dollar, 

" Would your mistress take a thousand for you ?" 

" Don't know, sar, but reckon she would. She'd be 
glad to get shut of me. She don't like me on de plan- 
tation, 'cause she say de oder darkies tink too much ob 
me ; and she don't like' me in de city, 'cause she 'fraid I 
run away." 

" Why afraid you'll run away ? Did you ever try to ?" 
" Try to ! Lor bless you, massa, I neber taught ob 
euch a ting — wouldn't gwo ef I could." 



" But wouldn't you ?" I asked, thinking lie had con- 
scientious scruples about running away ; " wouldn't you 
if you could buy yourself, and go honestly, as a free 
man ?" 

"Buy myself, sar!" he exclaimed in surprise; "buy 
my own flesh and blood dat de Lord hissef gabe me ! 
No, no ! massa; I'd likes to be free, butTd neber do 

" Why not do that ?" I asked. 

" 'Cause 't would be owning dat de white folks hab a 
right to de brack; and 'cause, sar, if I war free I couldn't 
stay har." 

" Why should you stay here ? You have no wife nor 
child ; why not go where the black man is respected and 
useful ?" 

" I'se 'spected and useful har, massa. I hab no wife 
nor child, and dat make me feel, I s'pose, like as ef all 
de brack people war my chil'ren." 

" But they are not your children ; and you can be of 
no service to them. At the North you might learn, and 
put your talents to some use." 

" Sar," he replied, a singular enthusiasm lighting up 
his face, " de Lord, dat make me what I ar, put me har, 
and I must stay. Sometimes when tings look bery 
brack, and I feel a'most 'scouraged, I goes to Him, and 
I say, ' Lord, I's ob no use, take me 'way ; let me get fru 
wid dis ; let me no more see de sunrin' and 'pression ob 
de pore cullud race ;' den He say to me, just so plain as 
I say it to you, ' Keep up good courage, Scipio, de time 


will come and now, bless de LonD, de time am 
coming !" 

u What time is coming, Scipio ?" 

He gave me a quick, suspicious glance, but his face in 
a moment resumed its usual expression, as he replied : 
" I'se sure, massa, dat I could trust you. I feel you am 
my friend, but I can't say no more." 

" You need not, Scip — I can guess. What you have 
said is safe with me. But let me counsel you — wait 
for the white man. Do not let your freedom come in 
blood !" 

"It will come, massa, as de Lord will. When He war 
freed de earth shook, and de vail ob de temple war rent 
in twain ! " 

We said no more, but rode on in silence ; the darky 
absorbed in his own reflections, I musing over the black 
volcano, whose muffled echoes I then heard " away down 
South in Dixie." 

We had ridden on for about an hour, when an open- 
ing in the trees disclosed a by-path, leading to a planta- 
tion. Following it for a short distance, we came upon a 
small clearing, in the midst of which, flanked by a rag- 
ged corn and potato paidi, squatted a dilapidated, 
unpainted wooden building, a sort of " half-way house" 

* The Southern blacks, like all ignorant people, are intensely fanatical on relig- 
ious subjects. The most trifling occurrences have to their minds a hidden sig- 
nificance, and they believe the Lord speaks to them in signs Mid dreams, and in 
almost every event of nature. This superstition, which has been handed down 
from their savage ancestry, has absolute sway over them, and one readily sees 
what immense power it would give to some leading, adroit mind, that knew how 
to use it. By means of it they might be led to the most desperate deeds, fully 
^believing all the while that thoy were "led ob de Lord." 



between a hut and a shanty. In its door-way, seated on 
a chair which wanted one leg and a back, was a suit of 
linsey-woolsey, adorned by enormous metal buttons, and 
surmounted by a queer-looking headpiece that might 
have passed for either a hat or an umbrella. I was at a 
loss to determine whether the object were a human being 
or a scarecrow, when, at the sound of our approach, the 
umbrella-like article lifted, and a pair of sunken eyes, 
a nose, and an enormous beard, disclosed themselves. 
Addressing myself to the singular figure, I inquired how 
far we were from our destination, and the most direct 
route to it. 

" Wal, stranger," was the reply, " it's a right smart 
twenty mile to the Gunnel's, but I reckon ye'll get thar, 
if ye follow yer critter's nose, and ar good at swim- 

" Why good at swimming?" I inquired. 
" 'Cause the 4 runs' have ris, and ar considerable deep 
by this time." 

"That's comforting news." 

" Yas, to a man as seems in a hurry," he replied, look- 
ing at my horse, which was covered with foam. 

"How far is it to the nearest run ?" I asked. 

" Wal, it mought be six mile ; it mought be seven, 
but you've one or two all-fired ones to cross arter that." 

Here was a pleasant predicament. It was nearly five 
o'clock, and our horse, though a noble animal, could not 
make the distance on an unobstructed route, in the then 
heavy state of the roads, in less than three hours. Long 



before that time it would be dark, and no doubt stormy, 
for the sky, which had lowered all the afternoon, every 
now and then uttered an ominous growl, and seemed 
ready to fall down upon us. But turning back was 
out of the question, so, thanking the "native," I was 
about to proceed, when he hailed me as follows : 

" I say, stranger, what's the talk in the city ?" 

" Nothing, sir," I replied, " but fight and Secession." 

" D — n Secession !" was the decidedly energetic 

" Why so, my friend ? That doctrine seems to be 
popular hereabouts." 

" Yas, pop'lar with them South Car'lina chaps. They'd 
be oneasy in heaven if Gabriel was cook, and the Lord 

" They must be hard to suit," I said ; " I 4 kalkerlate' 
yoiCre not a South Carolinian." 

" No, sir-ee ! not by several mile. My mother moved 
over the line to born me a decent individual." 

" But why are you for the Union, when your neigh- 
bors go the other way ?" 

" 'Cause it's allers carried us 'long as slick as a cart 
with new-greased wheels ; and 'cause, stranger, my 
grand'ther was one of Marion's boys, and spilt a lettle 
claret at Yewtaw for the old consarn, and I reckon he'd 
be oneasy in his grave if I turned my back on it now." 

" But, my friend," I said, " they say Lincoln is an 
Abolitionist, and if inaugurated, he will free every darky 
you've got." 




" He can't do that, stranger, 'cordin' to the Constetu- 
tion, and grand' ther used to say that ar dokermunt 
would hold the d — 1 himself ; but, for my part, I'd like 
to see the niggers free." 

" See the niggers free !" I replied in undisguised as- 
tonishment; "why, my good sir, that is rank treason and 

" Call it what yer a mind to, them's my sentiments ; 
but I say, stranger, if thar's ony thing on airth that I 
uttarly dispise it ar a Northern dough-face, and it's clar 
yer one on 'em." 

" There, my friend, you're mistaken. I'm neither an 
Abolitionist nor a dough-face. But why do you go for 
freeing the niggers ?" 

" 'Cause the white folks would be better off. You see, 
I have to feed and clothe my niggers, and pay a hundred 
and twenty and a hundred and fifty a year for 'em, and 
if the niggers war free, they'd work for 'bout half 

Continuing the conversation, I learned that the um- 
brella-hatted gentleman worked twenty hired negroes 
in the gathering of turpentine ; and that the district we 
were entering was occupied by persons in the same pur- 
suit, who nearly all employed " hired hands," and enter- 
tained similar sentiments ; Colonel J , whom I was 

about to visit, and who was a large slave-owwter, being 
about the only exception. This, the reader will please 
remember, was the state of things at the date of which 
I am writing, in the very heart of Secessiondom. 



Bidding the turpentine-getter a rather reluctant 
c good-by," I rode on into the rain. 

It was nearly dark when we reached the first " run," 
but, fortunately, it was less swollen than our way-side 
acquaintance had represented, and we succeeded in 
crossing without difficulty. Hoping that the others 
might be equally as ford-able, we pushed rapidly on, 
the darkness meanwhile gathering thickly about us, and 
the rain continuing to fall. Our way lay through an 
unbroken forest, and as the wind swept fiercely through 
it, the tall dark pines which towered on either side, 
moaned and sighed like a legion of unhappy spirits let 
loose from the dark abodes below. Occasionally we 
came upon a patch of woods where the turpentine- 
gatherer had been at work, and the white faces of the 
" tapped" trees, gleaming through the darkness, seemed 
an army of " sheeted ghosts" closkig steadily around us. 
The darkness, the rain, and the hideous noises in the 
forest, called up unpleasant associations, and I inwardly 
determined to ask hospitality from the first human being, 
black or white, whom we should meet. 

We had ridden on for about an hour after dark, when 
suddenly our horse's feet plashed in the water, and he 
sank to his middle in a stream. My first thought was 
that we were in the second "run," but as he pushed 
slowly on, the water momentarily growing deeper, and 
spreading on either side as far as we could see, it flashed 
upon me that we had missed the road in the darkness, 
and were fairly launched into the Waccamaw river! 



Turning to the darky, who was then driving, I said 
quickly : 

" Scip, stop the horse. Where are Ave ?" 

" Don't know, massa ; reckon we'se in de riber." \ 

" A comfortable situation this. We can't turn round. 
The horse can't swim such a stream in harness. What 
shall we do?" 

" Can you swim, massa ?" he quietly asked. 

" Yes, like an eel." 

" Wal, den, we'd better gwo on. De boss '11 swim. 
But, massa, you might take off your boots and over- 
coat, and be ready for a spring ef he gwo down." < 

I did as he directed, while he let down the apron and 
top of the wagon, and fastened the reins loosely to the 
dash-board, saying as he did so, " You must allers gib a 
hoss his head when he swim, massa ; if you rein him, he 
gwo down, shore." Then, undoing a portion of the 
harness, to give the horse the free use of his legs, he 
shouted, " Gee up, ole Gray," and we started. 

The noble animal stepped off slowly and cautiously, 
as if fully aware of the danger of the passage, but had 
proceeded only about fifty yards when he lost his foot- 
ing, and plunged us into an entirely new and decidedly 
cold hip-bath. " Now's de time, ole Gray," " show your 
broughf en up, ole boy," " let de gemman see you swim, 
ole feller," and similar remarks proceeded rapidly from 
the darky, who all the time avoided touching the reins. 

It may have been one minute, it may have been five 
minutes — I took " no note of time" — before the horse 


AMONG the pines. 

again struck bottom, and halted from sheer exhaustion, 
the water still almost level with his back, and the oppo- 
site bank too far-off to be seen through the darkness. 
After a short rest, he again "breasted the waters," and 
in a few moments landed us on the shore ; not, unfor- 
tunately, in the road, but in the midst of the pine-trees, 
there so entangled with under-growth, that not even a 
man, much less a horse, could make his way through 
them. Wet to the skin, and shivering with the cold, 
we had no time to lose " in gittin' out of dat," if we 
would avoid greater dangers than those we had escaped. 
So, springing from the wagon, the darky waded up the 
stream, near its bank, to reconnoitre. Returning in a 
few minutes, he reported that we were about a hundred 
yards below the road. "We had been carried that far 
down stream by the strength of the current. Our only 
course was to follow the " run" up along its bank ; this 
we did, and in a short time had the satisfaction of strik- 
ing the high road. Arranging the harness, we were 
soon under way again, the horse bounding along as if 
he felt the necessity of vigorous exercise to restore his 
chilled circulation. We afterward learned that it was 
not the Waccamaw we had crossed, but the second 
" run" our native friend had told us of, and that the 
water in the middle of its stream was fifteen feet deep ! 

Half-dead with cold and wet, we hurried on, but still 
no welcome light beckoned us to a human habitation. 
The darkness grew denser till we could not even distin- 
guish the road, much less our horse's nose, which we had 



been directed to follow. Inwardly cursing the folly 
which brought me into such a wilderness, I said to the 
darky : 

" Scip, I'm sorry I took you on such a trip as this." 

" Oh ! neber mind me, massa ; I ruther like de dark 
night and de storm." 

" Like the night and the storm ! why so ?" 

" 'Cause den de wild spirits come out, and talk in de 
trees. Dey make me feel bery strong har" he replied, 
striking his hand on his breast. 

" The night and the storm, Scip, make me feel like 
cultivating another sort of spirits. There are some in 
the wagon-box ; suppose we stop and see what they are." 

We stopped, and I took out a small willow-flask, 
which held the " spirits of Otard," and offered it to the 

" ]STo, massa," he said, laughing, " I neber touch dem 
sort ob spirits ; dey raise de bery ole deble." 

Not heeding the darky's example, I took " a long and 
a strong pull," and — felt the better for it. 

Again we rode on, and again and again I " communed 
with the spirits," till a sudden exclamation from Scip 
aroused me from the half-stupor into which I was falling. 
" What's the matter ?" I asked. 

" A light, massa, a light !" 


"Dar, way off in de trees — " 

" Sure enough, glory, hallelujah, there it is ! We're 
all right now, Scip." 



We rode on till we came to the inevitable opening m 
the trees, and were soon at the door of what I saw, by 
the light which came throngh the crevices in the logs, 
was a one-story shanty, abont twenty feet square. "Will 
you let us come in out ob de rain ?" asked Scip of a 
wretched-looking, half-clad, dirt-bedraggied woman, who 
thrust her head from the doorway. 

" Who ar ye ?" was the reply. 

" Only massa and me, and de hoss, and we'm half dead 
wid de cold," replied Scip; "can we cum in out ob 
de rain ?" 

"Wal, strangers," replied the woman, eyeing us as 
closely as the darkness would permit, " you'll find 
mighty poor fixins har, but I reckon ye can come in." 




Entering the house, we saw, by the light of a blazing 
pile of pine-knots, which roared and crackled on the 
hearth, that it contained only a single apartment. In 
front of the fire-place, which occupied the better half of 
one side of this room, the floor was of the bare earth, 
littered over with pine chips, dead cinders, live coals, 
broken pots, and a lazy spaniel dog. Opposite to this, 
at the other end of the room, were two low beds, which 
looked as if they had been " slept in forever, and never 
made up." Against the wall, between the beds and the 
fire-place, stood a small pine table, and on it was a large 
wooden bowl, from whose mouth protruded the handles 
of several unwashed pewter spoons. On the right of 
the fire was a razeed rocking-chair, evidently the pecu- 
liar property of the mistress of the mansion, and three 
blocks of pine log, sawn off smoothly, and made to serve 
for seats. Over against these towered a high-backed 
settle, something like that on which 

" sot Huldy all alone, 
When Zeke peeked thru the winder;" 

and on it, her head resting partly on her arm, partly on 
the end of the settle, one small, bare foot pressing the 


ground, the other, with the part of the person which is 
supposed to require stockings, extended in a horizontal 
direction — reclined, not Huldy, but her Southern cousin, 
who, I will wager, was decidedly the prettier and dirtier 
of the two. Our entrance did not seem to disconcert 
her in the least, for she lay there as unmoved as a marble 
statue, her large black eyes riveted on my face, as L 
seeing some nondescript animal for the first time. I 
stood for a moment transfixed with admiration. In a 
somewhat extensive observation of her sex in both hem- 
ispheres, I had never witnessed such a form^such eyes, 
such faultless features, and such wavy, black, luxuriant 
hair. A glance at her dress — a soiled, greasy, grayish 
linsey-woolsey gown, apparently her only garment — and 
a second look at her face, which, on closer inspection, 
had precisely the hue of a tallow candle, recalled me to 
myself, and allowed me to complete the survey of the 

The house was built of unhewn logs, separated by 
wide interstices, through which the cold air came, hi de- 
cidedly fresh if not health-giving currents, while a large 
rent in the roof, that let in the rain, gave the inmates an 
excellent opportunity for indulging in a shower-bath, of 
which they seemed greatly in need. The chimney, which 
had intruded a couple of feet into the room, as if to keep 
out of the cold, and threatened momentarily to tumble 
down, was of sticks, built up in clay, while the windows 
were of thick, unplaned boards. 

Two pretty girls, one of perhaps ten and the other of 



fourteen years, evidently sisters of the unadorned beauty, 
the middle-aged woman who had admitted us, and the 
dog — the only male member of the household — com- 
^ posed the family. I had seen negro cabins, but these 
people were whites, and these whites were South Caro- 
linians. When such counterparts of the feudal serfs 
still exist, who will say that the days of chivalry are 
over ! 

After I had seated myself by the fire, and the driver 
had gone out to stow the horse away under the tumble- 
down she^ at the back of the house, the elder woman 
said to me — 

" Reckon yer wet. Ben in the rain !" 

"Yes, madam, we've been out most of the day, and 
got in the river below here." 

" Did ye ? Ye mean the ' run.' I reckon it's right 
deep now." 

" Yes, our horse had to swim," I replied. 

" Ye orter strip and put on dry does to onst." 

" Thank you, madam, I will." 

Going to my portmanteau, which the darky had 
placed near the door, I found it dripping with wet, and 
opening it I discovered that every article had undergone 
the rite of immersion. 

" Every thing is thoroughly soaked, madam. I shall 
have to dry myself by your fire. Can you get me a cup 
of tea?" 

"Right sorry, stranger, but I can't- Ilaint a morsel 
to eat or drink in the house." 



Remembering that our excellent hostess of the night 
before had insisted on filling the wagon-box with a quan- 
tity of "chicken fLdns," to serve us in an emergency, 
and that my brandy flask was in my India-rubber coat, 
I sent Scip out for them. 

The stores disclosed boiled chicken, bacon, sandwiches, 
sweet potatoes, short cake, corn-bread, buttered waffles, 
and 'common doinV too numerous to mention, enough 
to last a family of one for a fortnight, but all completely 
saturated with water. Wet or dry, however, the pro- 
visions were a godsend to the half starved family, and 
their hearts seemed to open to me with amazing rapidity. 
The dog got up and wagged his tail, and even the marble 
like beauty rose from her reclining posture and invite* 
me to a seat with her on the bench. 

The kettle was soon steaming over the fire, and the 
boiling water, mixed with a little brandy, served as a 
capital substitute for tea. After the chicken was re- 
cooked, and the other edibles "warmed up," the little 
pine table was brought out, and I learned— what I had 
before suspected — that the big wooden bowl and the 
half dozen pewter spoons were the only "crockery" the 
family possessed. 

I declined the proffered seat at the table, the cooking 
utensils being any thing but inviting, and contented 
myself with the brandy and water; but, forgetting for a 
moment his color, I motioned to the darky — who was 
as wet and jaded, and much more hungry than I was — 
to take the place offered to me. The negro did not seem 



inclined to do so, but the woman, observing my gesture, 
yelled out, her eyes flashing with anger: 

" No, sar ! No darkies eats with us. Hope you don't 
reckon yerselfno better than a good-for-nothin', no ac- 
count nigger !" 

" I beg your pardon, madam ; I intended no offence. 
Scipio has served me very faithfully for two days, and is 
very tired and hungry. I forgot myself." 

This mollified the lady, and she replied: 

"Niggers is good enuff in thar place, but warn't meant 
to 'sociate with white folks." 

There may have been some ground for a distinction in 
that case; there certainly was a difference between the 
specimens of the two races then before me; but, not 
being one of the chivalry, it struck me that the odds 
were on the side of the black man. The whites were 
shiftless, ragged, and starving; the black well clad, 
cleanly, energetic, and as much above the others in in- 
tellect as Jupiter is above a church steeple. To be sure, 
color was against him, and he was, after all, a servant 
in the land of chivalry and of servant-owners. Of course 
the woman was right. 

She soon resumed the conversation with this re- 

"Reckon yer a stranger in these parts; whar d'ye 
jome from?" 
"From New York, madam." 
"New York! whar's that?" 
" It's a city at the North." 



"Oh! yas; I've heern tell on it: that's whar the Gunnel 
sells his turpentime. Quite a place, arnt it?" 

"Yes, quite a place. Something larger than all South 

"What d'ye say? Larger nor South Carolina* 
Kinder reckon tain't, is't?" 
"Yes, madam, it is." 

" Du tell ! 'Taint so large as Charles'n, is't ?" 

" Yes, twenty times larger than Charleston." 

" Lord o'massy ! How does all the folks live thar ?" 

" Live quite as well as they do here." 

"Ye don't have no niggers thar, does ye ?" 

" Yes, but none that are slaves." 

" Have Ablisherners thar, don't ye ? them people that 
go agin the South ?" 

" Yes, some of them." 

" What do they go agin the South for ?" 

" They go for freeing the slaves. Some of them think 
a black man as good as a white one." 

" Quar, that ; yer an Ablisherner, arnt ye ?" 

" N"o, I'm an old-fashioned Whig." 

" What's that ? Never heerd on them afore." 

"An old-fashioned Whig, madam, is a man whose 
political principles are perfect, and who is as perfect as 
his principles." 

That was a " stumper" for the poor woman, who evi- 
dently did aaot understand one-half of the sentence. 

"Right sort of folks, them," she said, in a half inquir- 
ing tone. 



" Yes, but they're all dead now." 
"Dead ?" 

" Yes, dead, beyond the hope of resurrection." 

" Iv'e heern all the dead war to be resurrected. 
Didn't ye say ye war one on 'em ? Ye aint dead yet," 
said the woman, chuckling at having cornered me. 

" But I'm more than half dead just now." 

" Ah," replied the woman, still laughing, " yer a 

" A chicken ! what's that ?" 

" A thing that goes on tu legs, and karkles," was the 
ready reply. 

" Ah, my dear madam, you can out-talk me." 

u Yas, I reckon I kin outrun ye, tu. Ye arnt over 
rugged." Then, after a pause, she added — "What d'ye 
'lect that darky, Linkum, President for ?" 

"I didn't-elect him. I voted for Douglas. But Lin- 
coln is not a darky." 

" He's a mullater, then ; I've heern he war," she replied. 

" No, he's not a mulatto ; he's a rail-splitter." 

" Rail-splitter ? Then he's a nigger, shore" 

" No, madam ; white men at the North split rails." 

" An' white wimmin tu, p'raps," said the woman, with 
a contemptuous toss of the head. 

" No, they don't," I replied, " but white women work 

" White wimmin work thar !" chimed in the hitherto 
speechless beauty, showing a set of teeth of the exact 
color of her skin — yaller. "What du the' du ?" 



" Some of them attend in stores, some set type, some 
teach school, and some work in factories." 

" Du tell ! Dress nice, and make money ?" 

" Yes," I replied, " they make money, and dress like 
fine ladies ; in fact, are fine ladies. I know one young 
woman, of about your age, that had to get her own edu- 
cation, who earns a thousand dollars a year by teaching, 
and I've heard of many factory-girls who support their 
parents, and lay by a great deal of money, by working 
in the mills." 

" Wal !" replied the young woman, with a contemptu- 
ous curl of her matchless upper lip ; " schule-marms arn't 
fine ladies ; fine ladies don't work ; only niggers works 
har. I reckon I'd ruther be 'spectable than work for a 

I could but think how magnificently the lips of some 
of our glorious Yankee girls would have curled had 
they have heard that remark, and have seen the poor girl 
that made it, with her torn, worn, greasy dress; her 
bare, dirty legs and feet, and her arms, neck, and face so 
thickly encrusted with a layer of clayey mud that there 
was danger of hydrophobia if she went near a wash-tub. 
Restraining my involuntary disgust, I replied : 

"We at the North think work is respectable. We 
do not look down on a man or a woman for earning their 
daily bread. We all work." 

" Yas, and that's the why ye'r all sech cowards," said 
the old woman. 

" Cowards !" T said ; " who tells you that?" 



" My old man ; he says one on our boys can lick five 
of your Yankee men" 

" Perhaps so. Is your husband away from home ?" 
" Yas, him and our Cal. ar down to Charles'n." • 
" Cal. is your son, is he ?" 

" Tas, he's my oldest, and a likely lad he ar tu— he's 
twenty-one, and his name are John Cal'oun Mills. 
He's gone a troopin' it with his fader." 

" What, both gone and left you ladies here alone?" 

" Yas, the Cunnel sed every man orter go, and they 
warn't to be ahind the rest. The Cunnel — Cunnel J. — 
looks arter us while they is away." 

" But I should think the Colonel looked after you 
poorly — giving you nothing to eat." 

" Oh ! it's ben sech a storm to-day, the gals couldn't 
go for the vittles, though 'tain't a great way. We'r 
on his plantation; this house is his'n." 

This last was agreeable news, and it occurred to 
me that if we were so near the Colonel's we might 
push on, in spite of the storm, and get there that 
night ; so I said : 

" Indeed ; I'm going to the Colonel's. How far is his 
house from here ?" 

" A right smart six mile ; it's at the Cross roads. Yo 
know the Cunnel, du ye ?" 

" Oh, yes, I know him well. If his house is not more 
than six miles off, I think we had better go on to-night. 
What do you say, Scip ?" 

" I reckon we'd better gwo, massa," replied the darky, 



who had spread my travelling-shawl in the chimney- 
corner, and was seated on it, drying his clothes. 

"Te'd better not," said the woman; "ye'd better 
stay har ; thar's a right smart run twixt har and the 
Cunnel's, and Hain't safe to cross arter dark." 

" If that is so we'd better 'Stay, Scip ; don't you think 
so ?" I said to the darky. " 

" Jess as you say, massa. We got fru wid de oder 
one, and I reckon taint no wuss nor dat." 

" The bridge ar carried away, and ye'll hev to swim 
shore" said the woman. " Ye'd better stay." 

" Thank you, madam, I think we will," I replied, after 
a moment's thought ; " our horse has swum one of your 
creeks to-night, and I dare not try another." 

Having taken off my coat, I had been standing, during 
the greater part of this conversation, in my shirt-sleeves 
before the fire, turning round occasionally to facilitate 
the drying process, and taking every now and then a sip 
from the gourd containing our brandy and water ; aided 
in the- latter exercise by the old woman and the eldest 
girl, who indulged quite as freely as I did 

" Mighty good brandy that," at last said the woman. 
" Ye like brandy, don't ye?" 

"Not very much, madam. I take it to-night because 
I've been exposed to the storm, and it stimulates the cir- 
culation. But Scip, here, don't like spirits. He'll get 
the rheumatism because he don't." 

" Don't like dem sort of sperits, massa ; but rumatics 
neber trubble me." 



" But I've got it mighty bad," said the woman, " and 
I take 'em whenever I kin get 'em." 

I rather thought she did, but I " reckoned" her prin- 
cipal beverage was whiskey. 

"You have the rheumatism, madam, because your 
house is so open ; a draught of air is always unhealthy." 

"I allers reckoned 'twar healthy" she replied. "Ye 
Yankee folks have quar notions." 

I looked at my watch, and found it was nearly ten 
o'clock, and, feeling very tired, said to the hostess : 

" Where do you mean we shall sleep ?" 

u Ye can take that ar bed," pointing to the one near- 
er the wall, " the darky can sleep har ;" motioning to 
the settle on which she was seated. 

u But where will you and your daughters sleep? I 
don't wish to turn you out of your beds." 

" Oh! don't ye keer for. us ; we kin all bunk together; 
dun it afore. Like to turn in now ?" 

" Yes, thank you, I would ;" and without more cere- 
mony I adjourned to the further part of the room, 
and commenced disrobing. Doffing my boots, waist- 
coat, and cravat, and placing my watch and purse 
under the pillow, I gave a moment's thought to what 
a certain not very old lady, whom I had left at home, 
might say when she heard of my lodging with a grass- 
widow and three young girls, and sprang into bed. 
There I removed my under-mentionables, which were 
still too damp to sleep in, and in about two minutes and 
thirty seconds sunk into oblivion. 



A few streaks of grayish light were beginning to 
creep through the crevices in the logs, when a move- 
ment at the foot of the bed awakened me, and glancing 
downward I beheld the youngest girl emerging from 
under the clothes at my feet. She had slept there, 
" cross-wise," all night. A stir in the adjoining bed 
soon warned me that the other feminines were pre- 
paring to follow her example ; so, turning my face to 
the wall, I feigned to be sleeping. Their toilet was 
soon made, when they quietly left Scip and myself in 
possession of the premises. 

The darky rose as soon as they were gene, and, com- 
ing to me, said : 

" Massa, we'd better be gwine. I'se got your does 
all dry, and you can rig up and breakfast at de Gun- 

The storm had cleared away, and the sun was strug- 
gling to get through the distant pines, when Scip 
brought the horse to the door, and we prepared to 
start. Turning to the old woman, I said : 

" I feel greatly obliged to you, madam, for the shel- 
ter you have given us, and would like to make you some 
recompense for your trouble. Please to tell me what I 
shall pay you." . 

" Wal, stranger, we don't gin'rally take in lodgers, 
but seem' as how as thar ar tu on ye, and ye've had a 
good night on it, I don't keer if ye pay me tu dollars." 

That struck me as " rather steep" for " common 
doin's," particularly as we had furnished the food and 



" the drinks ;" yet, saying nothing, I handed her a two- 
dollar bank-note. She took it, and held it np curiously 
to the sun for a moment, then handed it hack, saying, 
" I don't know nuthin' 'bout that ar sort o' money ; 
haint you got no silver ?" 

I rumbled in my pocket a moment, and found a quar- 
ter-eagle, which I gave her. 

" Haint got nary a fip o' change," she said, as she 
took it. 

" Oh ! never mind the change, madam ; I shall want 
to stop and look at you when I return," I replied, good- 

" Ha ! ha ! yer a chicken," said the woman, at the 
same time giving me a gentle poke in the ribs. Fear- 
ing she might, in the exuberance of her joy at the sight 
of the money, proceed to some more decided demonstra- 
tion of affection, I hastily stepped into the wagon, bade 
her good-by, and was off. 

We were still among the pines, which towered gigan- 
tically all around us, but were no longer alone. Every 
tree was scarified for turpentine, and the forest was 
alive with negro men and women gathering the " last 
dipping," or clearing away the stumps and underbrush 
preparatory to the spring work. It was Christmas 
week; but, as I afterward learned, the Colonel's ne- 
groes were accustomed to doing " half tasks" at that 
season, beings paid for their labor as if they were free. 
They stopped their work as we rode by, and stared at 
us with a stupid, half-frightened curiosity, very much 


like the look of a cow when a railway train is passing. 
It needed but little observation to convince me that 
their status was but one step above the level of the 

As we rode along I said to the driver, " Scip, what 
did you think of our lodgings ?" 

" Mighty pore, massa. Niggas lib better'n dat." 

" Yes," I replied, " but ttase folks despise you blacks ; 
they seem to be both poor and proud." 

" Yas, massa, dey'm pore 'cause dey wont work, and 
dey'm proud 'cause dey'r white. Dey wont work 
'cause dey see de darky slaves doin' it, and tink it am 
beneaf white folks to do as de darkies do. Dis habin' 
slaves keeps dis hull country pore." 

, u Who told you that ?" I asked, astonished at hear- 
ing a remark showing so much reflection from a negro. 

" Nobody, massa ; I see it myseff." 

" Are there many of these poor whites around George- 
town ?" 

" Not many 'round Georgetown, sar, but great many 
in de up-country har, and dey'm all 'like — pore and no 
account ; none ob 'em kin read, and dey all eat clay." 

" Eat clay !" I said ; " what do you mean by that ?" 

" Didn't you see, massa, how yaller all dem wimmin 
war ? Dat's 'cause dey eat clay. De little children be- 
gin 'fore dey kin walk, arid dey eat it till dey die ; dey 
chaw it like 'backer. It makes all dar stumacs big, like 
as you seed 'em, and spiles dar 'gestion. It 'm mighty 



" Can it be possible that human beings do such 
things ! The brutes wouldn't do that." 

" No, massa, but dey do it ; dey'm pore trash. Dat's 
what de big folks call 'em, and it am true ; dey'm loug 
way lower down dan de darkies." 

By this time we had arrived at the " run." We found 
the bridge carried away, as the woman had told us ; but 
its abutments were still standing, and over these planks 
had been laid^ which afforded a safe crossing for foot- 
passengers. To reach these planks, however, it was 
necessary to wade into the stream for full fifty yards, 
the " run" having overflowed its banks for that distance 
on either side of the bridge. The water was evidently 
receding, but, as we could not well wait, like the man 
in the fable, for it all to run by, we alighted, and coun- 
selled as to the best mode of making the passage. 

Scip proposed that he should wade in to the first 
abutment, ascertain the depth of the stream, and then, 
if it was not too deep for the horse to ford to that 
point, drive that far, get out, and walk to the end of 
the planking, leading the horse, and then again mount 
the wagon at the further end of the bridge. We were 
sure the horse would have to swim in the middle of the 
current, and perhaps for a considerable distance beyond; 
but, having witnessed his proficiency in aquatic per- 
formances, we had no doubt he would get safely across. 

The darky's plan was decided on, and divesting him, 
self of his trowsers, he waded into the " run" to take 
the soundings. 


While he was in the water my attention was at- 
tracted to a printed paper, posted on one of the pines 
near the roadside. Going up to it, I read as follows : 

"$250 REWARD. 

"Ran away from the subscriber, on Monday, November 12th, his 
mulatto man, Sam. Said boy is stout-built, five feet nine inches 
high, 31 years old, weighs 170 lbs., and walks very erect, and with 
a quick, rapid gait. 'The American flag is tattooed on his right 
arm above the elbow. There is a knife-cut over the bridge of his 
nose, a fresh bullet- wound in his left thigh, and his back bears 
marks of a recent whipping. He is supposed to have made his 
way back to Dinwiddie County, Ya., where ho was raised, or to be 
lurking in the swamps in tnis vicinity. 

"The above reward will be paid for his confinement in any jail 
in North or South Carolina, or Virginia, or for his delivery to the 
subscriber on his plantation at . 

" , December 2, 1860." 

The name signed to this hand-bill was that of the 
planter I was about to visit. 

Scip having returned, and reported the stream forda- 
ble to the bridge, I said to him, pointing to the " notice :" 

" Read that, Seip." 

He read it, but made no remark. 

" What does it mean — that fresh bullet wound, and 
the marks of a recent whipping ?" I asked. 

" It mean, massa, dat de darky hab run away, and 
ben took ; and dat when dey took him dey shot him, 
and flogged him arter dat. Now, he hab run away 
agin. De Gunnel's mighty hard on his niggas !" 



" Is he ? I can scarcely believe that." 

"He am, massa ; but he arnt so much to blame, 
neither; dey'm awful bad, most ob 'em — so dey 

Our conversation was here interrupted by our reach- 
ing the bridge. After safely " walking the plank," and 
making our way to the opposite bank, I resumed it 
by asking : 

"Why are the Colonel's negroes so particularly 

" 'Cause, you see, massa, de turpentime business hab 
made great profits for sum yars now, and de Cunnel 
hab been gettin' rich bery fass. He put all his 
money, jes so fass as he make it, into darkies, so to 
make more ; for he's got bery big plantation, and need 
nuffin' but darkies to work it to make money jess like a 
gold mine. He goes up to Virginny to buy niggas; 
and up dar now dey don't sell none less dey'm bad uns, 
% cep when sum massa die or git pore. Virginny darkies 
dat cum down har aint gin'raily ob much account. 
Dey'm either kinder good-for-numn, or dey'm ugly ; 
and de Cunnel 'd ruther hab de ugly dan de no-account 

" How many negroes has he ?" 

"'Bout two hundred, men and wimmin, I b'lieve, 

" It can't be pleasant for his family to remain in such 
an out-of-the-way place, with so bad a gang of negroes 
about them, and no white people near." 



" No, massa, not in dese times ; but de missus and 
de young lady arnt dar now." 

" Not there now ? The Colonel said nothing to me 
about that. Are you. sure ?" 

" Oh yas, massa ; I seed 'em gwo off on de boat to 
Charles'n most two weeks ago. Dey don't mean to 
eum back till tings am more settled ; dey'm 'fraid to 
stay dar." 

"Would it be safe for the Colonel there, if a dis- 
turbance broke out among the slaves." 

" 'T wouldn't be safe den anywhar, sar ; but de Cun- 
nel am a bery brave man. He'm better dan twenty of 
his niggas." 

" Why better than twenty of his niggers ?" 

" 'Cause dem ugly niggas am gin'rally cowards. De 
darky dat is quiet, 'spectful, and does his duty, am de 
brave sort ; dexfll fight, massa, till dey'm cut down." 

We had here reached a turn in the road, and passing 
it, came suddenly upon a coach, attached to which were 
a pair of magnificent grays, driven by a darky in livery. 

" Hallo, dar !" said Scip to the driver, as we came 
nearly abreast of the carriage. " Am you Cunnel 
J 's man ?" 

" Tas, I is dat," replied the darky. 

At this moment a woolly head, which I recognized at 
once as that of the Colonel's man " Jim," was thrust 
from the window of the vehicle. 

" Hallo, Jim," I said. " How do you do ? I'm glad 
to see you." 



"Lor bress me, Massa K , am dat you?" ex- 
claimed the astonished negro, hastily opening the door, 
and coming to me. " Whar did you cum from? I'ge 
mighty glad to see you ;" at the same time giving my 
hand a hearty shaking. I must here say, in justice to 
the reputation of South Carolina, that no respectable 
Carolinian refuses to shake hands with a black man, 
unless — the black happens to be free. 

" I thought I would'nt wait for you," I replied. 
" But how did you expect to get on ? the ' runs' have 
swollen into rivers." 

" We got a ' flat' made for dis one — it's down by 
dis time — de oders we tought we'd get ober sum- 

" Jim, this is Scip," I said, seeing the darkies took 
no notice of each other. 

"How d'ye do, Scip/o?" said Jim, extending his 
hand to him. A look of singular intelligence passed 
over the faces of the two negroes as their hands met ; it 
vanished in an instant, and was so slight that none but 
a close observer would have detected it, but some words 
that Scip had previously let drop had put me on the 
alert, and I felt sure it had- a hidden significance. 

" Wont you get into de carriage, massa ?" inquired 

" No, thank you, Jim. I'll ride on with Scip. Our 
horse is jaded, and you had better go ahead." 

Jim mounted the driver's seat, turned the carriage, 
and drove off at a brisk pace to announce our coming 


at the plantation, while Scip and I rode on at a slower 

" Scip, did you know Jim before ?" I asked. 

" Hab seed him afore, massa, but neber know'd him." 

" How is it that you have lived in Georgetown five 
years, and have not known him?" 

" I cud hab know'd him, massa, good many time, ef 
I'd liked, but darkies hab to be careful." 

" Careful of what ?" 

" Careful ob who dey knows ; good many bad niggat 

" Pshaw, Scip, you're ' coming de possum ;' there 
isn't a better nis^er than Jim in all South Carolina. I 
know him well." 

" P'raps he am ; reckon he am a good 'nufF nigga." 

" Good enough nigga, Scip ! Why, I tell you he's a 
splendid fellow ; just as true as steel. He's been North 
with the Colonel, often, and the Abolitionists have tried 
to get him away ; he knew he could go, but wouldn't 
oudge an inch." 

" I knew he wouldn't," said the darky, a pleasurable 
gleam passing through his eyes ; " dat sort don't run ; 
dey face de music !" 

" Why don't they run ? What do you mean by 
facing the music ?" 

" Nuffin' massa — only dey'd ruther stay har." 

" Come, Scip, you've played this game long enough. 
Tell me, now, what that look you gave each other when 
you shook hands meant." 



"What look, massa? Oh! I s'pose 'twar 'cause 
we'd both heerd ob each oder afore." 

" 'Twas more than that, Scip. Be frank ; you know 
you can trust me." 

" Wal, den, massa," he replied hesitatingly, adding, 
after a short pause, " de ole woman called you a Yan- 
kee, sar — you can guess." « 

" If I should guess, 't would be that it meant mis- 

" It don't mean mischief, sar," said the darky, with a 
tone and air that would not have disgraced a Cabinet 
officer ; " it mean only Right and Justice." 

" It means that there is some secret understanding 
between you." 

" I toled you, massa," he replied, relapsing into his 
usual manner, " dat de blacks am all Freemasons. I 
gabe Jim de grip, and he knowd me. He'd ha knowd 
my name ef you hadn't toled him." 

" Why would he have known your name ?" 

" 'Cause I gabe de grip, dat tole him." 

" Why did he call you Scip/o ? I called you Scip" 

" Oh ! de darkies all do dat. Nobody but de white 
folks call me Scip* I can't say no more, massa ; I shud 


u You have said enough to satisfy me that there is a 
secret league among the blacks, and that you are a leader 
in it. Now, I tell you, you'll get yourself into a scrape. 
I've taken a liking to you, Scip, and I should be very 
sorry to see you run yourself into danger." 


" I tank you, massa, from de bottom ob my soul I 
tank you," he said, as the tears moistened his eyes. 
" Tou bery kind, massa ; it do me good to talk wid 
you. But what am my life wuth? What am any 
slave's life wuth? Ef you war me yov?d do like 
me /" 

I could not deny it, and I«made no reply. 

The writer is aware that he is here making an impor- 
tant statement, and one that may be called in question 
by those persons who are accustomed to regard the 
Southern blacks as only reasoning brutes. The great 
mass of them are but a little above the brutes in their 
habits and instincts, but a large body are fully on a par, 
except in mere book-education, with their white mas- 

The conversation above recorded is, verbatim et liter- 
atim, true. It took place at the time indicated, and 
was taken down, as were other conversations recorded 
in this book, within twenty-four hours after its occur- 
rence. The name and the locality, only, I have, for .very 
evident reasons, disguised. 

From this conversation, together with others, held 
with the same negro, and from after developments 
made to me at various places, and at different times, 
extending over a period of six weeks, I became ac- 
quainted with the fact that there exists among the 
blacks a secret and wide-spread organization of a Ma- 
sonic character, having its grip, pass-word, and oath. 
It has various grades of leaders, who are competent 



and earnest men, and its ultimate object is Freedom. 
It is quite as secret and wide-spread as the order of the 
" Knights of the Golden Circle," the kindred league 
among the whites. 

This latter organization, which was- instituted by- 
John C. Calhoun, William L. Porcher, and others, as 
far back as 1835, has for irf sole object the dissolution 
of the Union, and the establishment of a Southern Em- 
pire — Empire is the word, not Confederacy, or Repub- 
lic ; and it was solely by means of its secret but power- 
ful machinery that the Southern States were plunged 
into revolution, in defiance of the will of a majority of 
their voting population. 

Nearly every man of influence at the South (and 
many a pretended Union man at the North) is a 
member of this organization, and sworn, under the pen- 
alty of assassination, to labor " in season and out of 
season, by fair means and by foul, at all times, and all 
occasions," for the accomplishment of its object. The 
blacks are bound together by a similar oath, and only 
hide their time. 

The knowledge of the real state of political affairs 
which the negroes have acquired through this organiza- 
tion is astonishingly accurate ; their leaders possess every 
essential of leadership — except, it may be, military skill 
— and they are fully able to cope with the whites. 

The negro whom I call Scipio, on the day when Major 
Anderson evacuated Fort Moultrie, and before he or I 
knew of that event, winch set all South Carolina in a 



blaze, foretold to me the breaking out of this war in 
Charleston harbor, and as confidently predicted that it 
would result in the freedom of the slaves ! 

The fact of this organization existing is not positively 
known (for the black is more subtle and crafty t^au 
any thing human), but it is suspected by many of the 
whites, the more moderate of whom are disp < ^ed to 
ward off the impending blow by some system of grad- 
ual emancipation — declaring all black children born 
after a certain date free — or by some other action that 
will pacify and keep down the slaves. These persons, 
however, are but a small minority, and possess no polit- 
ical power, and the South is rushing blindly on to a 
catastrophe, which, if not averted by the action of our 
government, will make the horrors of San Domingo 
and the French Revolution grow pale in history. 

I say the action of our government, for with it rests 
the responsibility. What the black wants is freedom. 
Give him that, and he will have no incentive to insur- 
rection. If emancipation is proclaimed at the head ot 
our armies — emancipation for all — confiscation for the 
slaves of rebels, compensation for the slaves of loyal 
citizens — the blacks will rush to the aid of our troops, 
the avenging angel will pass over the homes of the 
many true and loyal men who are still left at the South, 
and the thunderbolts of this war will fall only — where 
they should fall — on the heads of its blood-stained au- 
thors. If this is not done, after we have put down the 
whites we shall have to meet the blacks, and after we 



have waded knee-deep in the blood of both, we shall 
end the war where it began, but with the South deso- 
lated by fire and sword, the North impoverished and 
loaded down with an everlasting debt, and our once 
proud, happy, and glorious country the by-word and 
scorn of the civilized world. 

Slavery is the very bones, marrow, and life-blood of 
this rebellion, and it cannot be crushed till we have 
destroyed that accursed institution. If a miserable 
peace is patched up before a death-stroke is given to 
slavery, it will gatner new strength, and drive freedom 
from this country forever. In the nature of things it 
cannot exist in the same hemisphere with liberty. 
Then let every man who loves his country determine 
that if this war must needs last for twenty years, it 
shall not end until this root of all our political evils is 
weeded out forever. 

A short half-hour took us to the plantation, where I 
found the Colonel on the piazza awaiting me. After 
our greeting was over, noticing my soiled and rather 
dilapidated condition, he inquired where I had passed 
the night. I told him, when he burst into a hearty fit of 
laughter, and for several days good-naturedly bantered 
me about "putting up" at the most aristocratic hotel in 
South Carolina— the "Mills House." 

We soon entered the mansion, and the reader will, I 
trust, pardon me, if I leave him standing in its door- way 
till another chapter. 




The last chapter left the reader in the door-way of 
the Colonel's mansion. Before entering, we will linger 
there awhile and survey the outside of the premises. 

The house stands where two roads meet, and, unlike 
most planters' dwellings, is located in full view of the 
highway. It is a rambling, disjointed structure, thrown 
together with no regard to architectural rules, and yet 
there is a rude harmony in its very irregularities that 
has a pleasing effect. The main edifice, with a frontage 
of nearly eighty feet, is only one and a half, stories high, 
and is overshadowed by a broad projecting roof, which 
somehow, though in a very natural way, drops down at 
the eaves, and forms the covering of a piazza, twenty 
feet wide, and extending across the entire front of the 
house. At its south-easterly angle, the roof is truncated, 
and made again to form a covering for the piazza, which 
there extends along a line of irregular buildings for sixty 
yards. A portion of the verandah on this side being 
enclosed, forms a bowling-alley and smoking-room, two 
essential appendages to a planter's residence. The whole 
structure is covered with yeilow.-pine weather boarding, 
which in some former age was covered with paint of a 
grayish brown color. This, in many places, has peeled 



off and allowed the sap to ooze from the pine, leaving 
every here and there large blotches on the surface, some- 
what resembling the " warts" I have seen on the trunks 
of old trees. 

The house is encircled by grand C id pines, whose tall, 
upright stems, soaring eighty anc ninety feet in the air, 
make the low hamlet seem lower by the contrast. They 
have stood there for centuries, tl iir rough, shaggy coats 
buttoned close to their chins, an 1 their long green locks 
waving in the wind ; but the lc lg knife has b^en thrust 
into their veins, and their life-} lood is now fas* oozing 

With the exception of the Legro huts, which are scat- 
tered at irregular intervals through the woods in the 
rear of the mansion, there is not a human habitation 
within an hour's ride ; but such a cosy, inviting, hos- 
pitable atmosphere surrounds the whole place, that a 
stranger does not realize he has happened upon it m a 

The interior of the dwelling is in keeping with the 
exterior, though in the drawing-rooms, where rich fur- 
niture and fine paintings actually lumber the apartments, 
there is evident the lack of a nice perception of the "fit- 
ness of things," and over the whole hangs a " dusty air," 
which reminds one that the Milesian Bridget does not 
" flourish" in South Carolina. 

I was met in the entrance-way by a tall, fine-looking 
woman, to whom the Colonel introduced me as fol 


" Mr. K , this is Madam P , my housekeeper ; 

she will try to make you forget that Mrs. J is ab- 

After a few customary courtesies were exchanged, I 
was shown to a dressing-room, and with the aid of 
Jim, a razor, and one of the Colonel's shirts — all of 
mine having undergone a drenching — soon made a tol- 
erably presentable appearance. The negro then con- 
ducted me to the breakfast-room, where I found the 
family assembled. 

It consisted, besides the housekeeper, of a tall, raw- 
boned, sandy-haired personage, with a low brow, a blear 
eye, and a sneaking look— the overseer of the planta- 
tion ; and of a well-mannered, intelligent lad — with the 
peculiarly erect carriage and uncommon blending of 
good-natured ease and dignity which distinguished my 
host — who was introduced to me as the housekeeper's 

Madam P , who presided over the " tea-things," 

was a person of perhaps thirty-five, but a rich olive com- 
plexion, enlivened by a delicate red tint, and relieved 
by thick masses of black hair, made her appear to a 
casual observer several years younger. Her face bore 
vestiges of great beauty, which time, and, perhaps, care, 
had mellowed but not obliterated, and her conversation 
indicated high cultivation. She had evidently mingled 
in refined society in this country and in Europe, and it 
was a strange freak of fortune that had reduced her to 
a menial condition in the family of a backwoods planter. 



After some general conversation, the Colonel remarked 
that his wife and daughter would pass the winter in 

"And do you remain on the plantation?" I in- 

" Oh yes, I am needed here," he replied ; " but Mad- 
am's son is with my family." 

"Madam's son!" I exclaimed in astonishment, forget- 
ting in my surprise that the lady was present. 

" Yes, sir," she remarked, " my oldest boy is twenty." 

" Excuse me, Madam ; I forgot that in your climate 
one never grows old." 

" There you are wrong, sir ; I'm sure I feel old when 
I think how soon my boys will be men." 

" Not old yet, Alice," said the Colonel, in a singularly 
familiar tone ; " you seem to me no older than when you 
were fifteen." 

" You have been long acquainted," I remarked, not 
knowing exactly what to say. 

"Oh, yes," replied my host, "we were children to- 

" Your Southern country, Madam, affords a fine field 
for young men of enterprise.* » 

" My eldest son resides in Germany," replied the lady. 
"He expects to make that country his home. He would 
have passed his examination at Heidelberg this au- 
tumn had not circumstances called him here." 

" You are widely separated," I replied. 

" Yes, sir ; his father thinks it best, and I suppose it 
. 5 



is. Thomas, here, is to return with his brother, and I 
may live to see neither of them again." 

My curiosity was naturally much excited to learn 
more, but nothing further being volunteered, and the 
conversation soon turning to other topics, I left the table 
with it unsatisfied. 

After enjoying a quiet hour with the Colonel in the - 
smoking-room, he invited me to join him in a ride over 
the plantation. I gladly assented, and Jim shortly an- 
nounced the horses were in waiting. That darky, who 
invariably attended his master when the latter pro- 
ceeded from home, accompanied us. As we were 
mounting I bethought me of Scip, and asked where he 

" He'm gwine to gwo, massa, and want to say good- 
by to you." 

It seemed madness for Scip to start on a journey of 
seventy miles without rest, so I requested the Colonel 
to let him remain till the next day. He cheerfully as- 
sented, and sent Jim to find him. While waiting for 
the darky, I spoke of how faithfully he had served me 
during my journey. 

" He's a splendid nigger," replied the Colonel ; " worth 
his weight in. gold. If afiairs were more settled I would 
buy him." 

" But Colonel A tells me he is too intelligent. 

He objects to c Snowing' niggers." 

" I do not," replied my host, " if they are honest, and 
I would trust Scip with uncounted gold. Look at hini," 



he continued, as the negro approached ; " were flesh and 
bones ever better put together ?" 

The darky was a fine specimen of sable humanity, and 
I readily understood why the practiced eye of the Col- 
onel appreciated his physical developments. 

" Scip," I said, " you must not think of going to-day ; 
the Colonel will be glad to let you remain until you are 
fully rested." 

" Tank you, massa, tank you bery much, but de ole 
man will spec' me, and I orter gwo." 

"Oh, never mind old said the Colonel, "I'D 

take care of him." 

" Tank you, Cunnel, den I'll stay har till de mornin'." 

Taking a by-path which led through the forest in the 
rear, of the mansion, we soon reached a small stream, 
and, following its course for a short distance, came upon 
a turpentine distillery, which the Colonel explained to 
me was one of three that prepared the product of his 
plantation for market, and provided for his family of 
nearly three hundred souls. 

It was enclosed, or rather roofed, by a rude structure 
of rough boards, which was open at the sides, and sus- 
tained on a number of pine poles about thirty feet in 
height, and bore a strong resemblance to the usual 
covering of a New England haystack. 

Three stout negro men, divested of all clothing except- 
ing a pair of coarse gray trowsers and a red shirt — it 
was a raw, cold, wintry day — and with cotton bandannas 
bound about their heads, were " tending the still." The 



foreman stood on a raised platform level with its top, 
but as we approached very quietly seated himself on a 
turpentine barrel which a moment before he had rolled 
over the mouth of the boiler. Another negro was below, 
feeding the fire With "light wood," and a third was 
tending the trough by which the liquid rosin found its 
way into the semicircle of rough barrels intended for it? 

"Hello, Junius, what in creation are you doing there ?" 
asked the Colonel, as we approached, of the negro on the 
turpentine barrel. 

" Holein' her down, Cunnel ; de ole ting got a mine 
to blow up dis mornin' ; I'se got dis barrl up har to hole 
her down." 

" Why, you everlasting nigger, if the top leaks you'll 
be blown to eternity in half a second." 
. " Reckon not, massa ; be barrl and me kin hole her. 
We'll take de risk." . 

" Perhaps you will," said the Colonel, laughing, " but 
I wont. Nigger property isn't of much account,' but 
you're too good a darky, June, to be sent to the devil 
for a charge of turpentine." 

" Tank you, massa, but you dun kno' dis ole ting like 
I do. You cudn't blow her up nohow; I'se tried her 
afore dis way." 

" Don't you do it again ; now mind ; if you do I'll 
make a white man of you." (This I suppose referred to 
a process of flaying with a whip; though the whip 
is generally thought to redden, not whiten, the negro.) 



The black did not seem at all alarmed, for he showed 
his ivories in a broad grin as he replied, " Jess as you 
say, massa ; you'se de boss in dis shanty." 

Directing the fire to be raked out, and the still to 
stand unused until it was repaired, the Colonel turned 
his horse to go, when he observed that the third negro 
was shoeless, and his feet chapped and swollen with the 
cold. " Jake," he said, " where are your shoes ?" 

" Wored out, massa." 

" Worn out ! Why haven't you been to me ?" 

" 'Cause, massa, I know'd you'd jaw ; you tole me I 
wears 'em out mighty fass." 

" Well, you do, that's a fact ; but go to Madam and 
get a pair ; and you, June, you've been a decent nigger, 
you can ask for a dress for Rosy. How is little June ?" 

Mighty pore, massa; de ma'am war dar lass night 
and dis mornin', and she reckun he'm gwine to gwo, 

"Sorry to hear that," said the Colonel. "I'll go and 
see him. Don't feel badly, June," he continued, for the 
tears welled up to the eyes of the black man as he spoke 
of his child ; " we all must die." 

"I knows dat, massa, but it am hard to hab 'em 

"Yes, it is, June, but we may save him." 

" Ef you cud, massa ! Oh, ef you cud !" and the poor 
darky covered his face with his great hands and sobbed 
like a child. 

We rode on to another "still," and there dismount 



' big, the Colonel explained to me the process of gathering 
and manufacturing turpentine. The trees are "boxed" 
and " tapped" early in the year, while the frost is still 
in the ground. "Boxing" is the process of scooping a 
cavity in the trunk of the tree by means of a peculiarly 
shaped axe, made for the purpose ; " tapping" is scarify- 
ing the rind of the wood above the boxes. This is never 
done until the trees have been worked one season, but 
it is then repeated year after year, till on many planta- 
tions they present the marks of twenty and frequently 
thirty annual " tappings," and are often denuded of bark 
for a distance of thirty feet from the ground. The neces- 
sity for this annual tapping arises from the fact that the 
scar on the trunk heals at the end of a season, and the 
sap will no longer run from it ; a fresh wound is there- 
fore made each spring. The sap flows down the scari- 
fied surface and collects in the boxes, which are emptied 
six or eight times in a year, according to the length of 
the season. This is the process of " dipping," and it is 
done with a tin or iron vessel constructed to fit the 
cavity in the tree. 

The turpentine gathered from the newly boxed or 
virgin tree is very valuable, on account of its producing 
a peculiarly clear and white rosin, which is used in the 
manufacture of the finer kinds of soap, and by "Rosin 
the Bow." It commands, ordinarily, nearly five times 
the price of the common article. When barrelled, the 
turpentine is frequently sent to market in its crude state, 
but more often is distilled on the plantation, the gath- 



erers generally possessing means sufficient to own a 

In the process 01 distilling, the crude turpentine is 
" dunked" into the boiler through an opening in the 
top — the same as that on which we saw Junius com 
posedly seated — water is then poured upon it, the aper- 
ture made tight by screwing down the cover and pack- 
ing it with clay, a fire built underneath, and when the 
heat reaches several hundred degrees Fahrenheit, the 
process of manufacture begins. The volatile and more 
valuable part of the turpentine, by the action of the 
heat, rises as vapor, then condensing flows off through 
a pipe in the top of the still, and comes out spirits of 
turpentine, while the heavier portion finds vent at a 
lower aperture, and comes out rosin. 

No article of commerce is so liable to waste and leak- 
age as turpentine. The spirits can only be preserved in 
tin cans, or in thoroughly seasoned oak barrels, made 
tight by a coating of glue on the inner side. Though 
the material for these barrels exists at the South in lux- 
uriant abundance, they are all procured from the North, 
and the closing of the Southern ports has now entirely 
cut off the supply; for while the turpentine farmer may 
Tnprovise coopers, he can by no process give the oak 
timber the seasoning which is needed to render the bar- 
rel spirit-tight. Hence it is certain that a large portion 
of the last crop of turpentine must have gone to waste. 
When it is remembered that the one State of North 
Carolina exports annually nearly twenty millions in 


value of this product, and employs fully two-thirds of 
its negroes in its production, it will be seen how dearly 
the South is paying for the mad freak of secession. Put- 
ting out of view his actual loss of produce, how does the 
turpentine farmer feed and employ his negroes ? and 
pressed as these blacks inevitably are by both hunger 
and idleness, those proline breeders of sedition, what 
will keep them quiet ? 

" What effect will secession have on your business ?" 
I asked the Colonel, after a while. 

"A favorable one. I shall ship my crop direct to Livr 
erpool and London, instead of selling it to New York 

"But is not the larger portion of the turpentine crop 
consumed at the North?" 

"Oh, yes. We shall have to deal with the Yankees 
anyhow, but we shall do as little with them as possible." 

"Suppose the Yankees object to your setting up 
by yourselves, and put your ports under lock and 

"They wont do that, and if they do, England will 
break the blockade." 

"We may rap John Bull over the knuckles in that 
event," I replied. 

"Well, suppose you do ; what then?" 

"Merely, England would not have a ship in six months 
to carry your cotton. A war with her would ruin the 
shipping trade of the North. Our marine would seek 
employment at privateering, and soon sweep every 



British merchant ship from the ocean. We could afford 
to give up ten years' trade with you, and to put seces- 
sion down by force, for the sake of a year's brush with 
John Bull." 

" But, my good friend, where would the British navy 
be all this while ?" 

"Asleep. The English haven't a steamer that can 
catch a Brookhaven schooner. The last war proved 
that government vessels are no match for privateers." 

" Well, well ! but the Yankees wont fight." 

" Suppose they do. Suppose they shut up your ports, 
and leave you with your cotton and turpentine unsold ? 
You raise scarcely any thing else — what would you 
eat ?" 

" We would turn our cotton fields into corn and 
wheat. Turpentine-makers, of course, would suffer." 

" Then why are not you a Union man ?" 

" My friend, I have nearly three hundred mouths to 
feed. I depend on the sale of my crop to give them food. 
If our ports are closed, I cannot do it — they will starve, 
and I be ruined. But sooner than submit to the dom- 
ination of the cursed Yankees, I will see my negroes 
starving, and my child a beggar !" 

At this point in the conversation we arrived at the 
negro shanty where the sick child was. Dismounting, 
the Colonel and I entered. 

The cabin was almost a counterpart of the "Mills 
House," described in the previous chapter, but it had a 
plank flooring, and was scrupulously neat and clean. 


The logs were stripped of bark, and whitewashed. A 
bright, cheerful fire was blazing on the hearth, and an 
air of rude comfort pervaded the whole interior. On a 
low bed in the farther corner of the room lay the sick 
child. He was a boy of about twelve years, and evi- 
dently in the last stages of consumption. By his side, 
bending over him as if to catch his almost inaudible 
words, sat a tidy, youthful-looking colored woman,' his 
mother, and the wife of the negro we had met at the 
" still." Playing on the floor, was a younger child, per- 
haps five years old, but while the faces of the mother 
and the sick lad were of the hue of charcoal, his skin 
by a process well understood at the South, had been 
bleached to a bright yellow. 

The woman took no notice of our entrance, but the 
little fellow ran to the Colonel and caught hold of the 
skirts of his coat in a free-and-easy way, saying, " Ole 
massa, you got suffin' for Dicky ?" 

" No, you little nig," replied the Colonel, patting his 
woolly head as I might have done a white child's, 
" Dicky isn't a good boy." 

" Yas, I is," said the little darky; "you'se ugly ole 
massa to gib nuffin' to Dick." 

Aroused by the Colonel's voice, the woman turned 
toward us. Her eyes were swollen, and her face bore 
traces of deep emotion. 

" Oh massa !" she said, " de chile am dyin' ! It'm all 
along ob his workin' in de swamp — no man orter work 
dar, let alone a chile like dis." 


"Do you think he is dying, Rosy?" asked the Colonel, 
approaching the bed-side. 

" Shore, massa, he'm gwine fass. Look at 'im." 

The boy had dwindled to a skeleton, and the skin lay 
on his face in crimpled folds, like a mask of black crape. 
His eyes were fixed, and he was evidently going. 

" Don't you know massa, my bby ?" said the Colonel, 
taking his hand tenderly in his. 

The child's hps slightly moved, but I could hear no 
sound. The Colonel put his ear down to him for a mo- 
ment, then, turning to me, said : 

" He is dying. Will you be so good as to step to the 

house and ask Madam P here, and please tell Jim to 

go for Junius and the old man." 

I returned in a short while with the lady, but found 
the boy's father and " the old man" — the darky preacher 
of the plantation — there before us. The preacher was a 
venerable old negro, much bowed by years, and with 
thin wool as white as snow. When we entered, he was 
bending over the dying boy, but shortly turning to my 
host, said : 

" Massa, de blessed Lord am callin' for de chile — 
shall we pray ?" 

The Colonel nodded assent, and we all, blacks and 
whites, knelt down on the floor, while the old preacher 
made a short, heart-touching prayer. It was a simple, 
humble acknowledgment of the dependence of the crea- 
ture on the Creator — of His right to give and to take 
away, and was uttered in a free, conversational tone, as 



if long communion with his Maker had placed the old 
negro on a footing of friendly familiarity with Him, and 
given the black slave the right to talk with the Deity as 
one man talks with another. 

As we rose from our knees my host said to me, " It is 
my duty to stay here, but I will not detain you. Jim 
will show you over the plantation. I will join you at 
the house when this is over." The scene was a painful 
one, and I gladly availed myself of the Colonel's sug- 

Mounting our horses, Jim and I rofte off to the negro 
house where Scip was staying. 

Scip was not at the cabin, and the old negro woman 
told us he had been away for several hours. 

u Reckon he'll be 'way all day, sar," said Jim, as we 
turned our horses to go. 

" He ought to be resting against the ride of to-mor- 
row. Where has he gone ?" 

" Dunno, sar, but reckon he'm gwine to fine Sarm" 

u Sam ? Oh, he's the runaway the Colonel has adver- 

" Tas, sar, he'm 'way now more'n a monfh." 
" How can Scip find him ?" 

" Dunno, sar. Scipio know most ebery ting — reckon 
he'll track him. He know him well, and Sam'll cum 
back ef he say he orter." 

" Where do you think Sam is ?" 

" P'raps in de swamp." 

" Where is the swamp ?" 



" 'Bout ten mile from har." 

" Ob, yes ! the shingles are cut there. I should think 
a runaway would be discovered where so many men are 
at work." 

"No, massa, dar'm places dar whar de ole debble 
cudn't fine him, nor de dogs nudder." 

" I thought the bloodhounds would track a man any- 

" Not fru de water, massa ; dey lose de scent in de 

" But how can a man live there — how get food ?" 

" De darkies clat work dar take 'em miff." 

" Then the other negroes know where the runaways 
are ; don't they sometimes betray them ?" 

" Neber, massa ; a darky neber tells on anoder. De 
Cunnel had a boy in dat swamp once good many 

" Is it possible ! Did he come back ?" 

" No, he died dar. Sum ob de hands found him 
dead one mornin' in de hut whar he lib'd, and buried 
him dar." 

" Why did Sam run away ?" 

"'Cause de oberseer flog him. He use him bery 
hard, massa." 

"What had Sam done ?" 
" Nuffin, massa." 

"Then why was he flogged ? Did the Colonel know 
it ?" 

" Oh, yas ; Moye cum de possum ober de Cunnel, and 



make him b'lieve Sam war bad. De Cunnel dunno de 
hull ob dat story." 

"Why didn't you tell him? The Colonel trusts 

" 5 T wudn't hab dun no good ; de Cunnel wud hab 
flogged me for tellin' on a wite man. Nigga's word 
aint ob no account." 

" What is the story about, Sam ?" 

" You wont tell dat JTtole you, massa ?" 

" No, but I'll tell the Colonel the truth." 

" Wal den, sar, you see Sam's wife am bery good- 
lookin', her skin's most wite — her mudder war a mulat- 
ter, her fader a wite man — she lub'd Sam 'bout as well 
as de wimmin ginrally lub dar husbands" (Jim was a 
bachelor, and his observation of plantation morals had 
given him but little faith in the sex), " but most ob 'em, 
ef dey'm married or no, tink dey must smile on de wite 
men, so Jule she smiled on de oberseer — so Sam tought 
— and it made him bery jealous. He war sort o' sassy, 
and de oberseer strung him up, and flog him bery hard. 
Den Sam took to de swamp, but he didn't know whar 
to gwo, and de dogs tracked him ; he'd ha' got 'way 
dough ef ole Moye hadn't a shot him ; den he cudn't 
run. Den Moye flogged him till he war 'most dead, 
and arter dat chained him down in de ole cabin, and 
gave him 'most nufnn' to eat. De Cunnel war gwine to 
take Sam to Charles'on and sell him, but somehow he 
got a file and sawed fru de chain and got 'way in de 
night to de ' still.' Den when de oberseer come dar in 



de mornin', Sam jump on him and 'most kill him. He'd 
hab sent him whar dar aint no niggas, ef Junius hadn't 
a holed him. Td a let de ole debble gwo." 

" Junius, then, is a friend of the overseer." 

" No, sar ; he haint no friends, 'cep de debble ; but 
June am a good nigga, and he said 'twarn't right to kill 
ole Moye so sudden, for den dar'd be' no chance for de 
Lord to forgib him." 

" Then Sam got away again ?" 

" Oh yas ; nary one but darkies war round, and dey 
wouldn't hole him. Ef dey'd cotched him den, dey'd 
hung him, shore." 

"Why hung him?" 

"'Cause he'd struck a wite man; it 'm shore death to 
do dat." 

"Do you think Scip will bring him back?" 

"Yas; 'cause he'm gwine to tell massa de hull story. 
De Cunnel will b'lieve Scipio ef he am brack. Sam'll 
know dat, so he'll come back. De Cunnel'll make de 
State too hot to hole ole Moye, when he fine him out." 

"Does Sam's wife 'smile' on the overseer now?" 

"No; she see de trubble she bring on Sam, and she 
bery sorry. She wont look at a wite man now." 

During the foregoing conversation, we had ridden for 
several miles over the western half of the plantation, 
and were again near the house. My limbs being de- 
cidedly stiff and sore from the effect of the previous 
day's journey, 1 decided to alight and rest until the 
hour for dinner. 


I mentioned my jaded condition to Jim, who said: 
" Dat's right, massa ; come in de house. I'll cure de 
rumatics ; I knows how to fix dem." 

Fastening the horses at the door, Jim accompanied 
me to my sleeping-room, where he lighted a fire of pine 
knots, which in a moment blazed up on the hearth and 
sent a cheerful glow through the apartment; then, say- 
ing he would return after stabling the horses, the darky 
left me. 

I took off my boots, drew the sofa near the fire, and 
stretched myself at full length upon it. If ever mortal 
was tired, "I reckon" I was. It seemed as though every 
joint and bone in my body had lost the power of motion, 
and sharp, acute pains danced along my nerves, as I have 
seen the hghtning play along the telegraph wires. My 
entire system. had the toothache. 

Jim soon returned, bearing in one hand a decanter of 
" Otard," and in the other a mug of hot water and a 
crash towel. 

" I'se got de stuff dat'll fix de rumatics, massa." 

" Thank you, Jim; a glass will do me good. Where 
did you get it ?" I asked, thinking it strange the Colonel 
should leave his brandy-bottle within reach of the 
negroes, who have an universal weakness for spirits. 

" Oh, I keeps de keys ; de Cunnel hissef hab to come 
to me when he want suffm' to warm hissef." 

It was the fact ; Jim had exclusive charge of the wine- 
cellar; in short, was butler, barber, porter, footman, and 
body-servant, all combined. 



"Now, massa, you lay right whan you is, and I'll 
make you ober new in less dan no time." 

And he did ; but I emptied the brandy-bottle. Lest 
my temperance friends should be horror-stricken, I will 
mention, however, that I took the fluid by external ab- 
sorption. For all rheumatic sufferers, I would prescribe 
hot brandy, in plentiful doses, a coarse towel, and an 
active Southern darky, and if on the first application the 
patient is not cured, the fault will not be the negro's. 
Out of mercy to the chivalry, I hope our government, 
in saving the Union, will not annihilate the order of 
body-servants. They are the only perfect institution in 
the Southern country, and, so far as I have seen, about 
the only one worth saving. 

The dinner-bell sounded a short while after Jim had 
finished the scrubbing operation, and I went to the table 
with an appetite I had not felt for a week. My whole 
system was rejuvenated, and I am not sure that I should, 
at that moment, have declined a wrestling match with 
Heenan himself. 

I found at dinner only the overseer and the young son 

of Madam P , the Colonel and the lady being still at 

the cabin of the dying boy. The dinner, though a queer 
mixture of viands, would not have disgraced, except, 
perhaps, in the cooking, the best of our Northern hotels. 
Venison, bacon, wild fowl, hominy, poultry, corn bread, 
French "made-dishes," and Southern "common doin's," 
with wines and brandies of the choicest brands, were 
placed on the table together. 



"Dis, massa," said Jim, "am de raal juice; it hab been 
in de cellar eber since de house war built. Massa tole 
me to gib you some, wid him complimen's." 

Passing it to my companions, I drank the Colonel's 
health in as fine wine as I ever tasted. 

I had taken an instinctive dislike to the overseer at 
the breakfast-table, and my aversion was not lessened 
by learning his treatment of Sam; curiosity to know 
w r hat manner of man he was, however, led me, toward ,* 
the close of our meal, to " draw him out," as follows : 

"What is the political sentiment, sir, of this section 
of the State?" 

"Wal, I reckon most of the folks 'bout bar' is Union; 
they'm from the 'old North,' and gin'rally pore trash." 

"1 have heard that the majority of the turpentine- 
farmers are enterprising men and good citizens — more 
enterprising, even, than the cotton and rice planters." 

"Wal, they is enterprisin', 'cause they don't keer for 
nuthin' 'cep' money." 

"The man who is absorbed in money-getting is gen- 
erally a quiet citizen." 

"P'raps that's so. But I think a man sh'u'd hev a 
soul suthin' 'bove dollars. Them folks will take any 
sort o' sarce from the Yankees, ef they'll only buy thar 

"What do you suffer from the Yankees?" 

"Suffer from the Yankees? Don't they steal our 
niggers, and haint they 'lected an ab'lishener for Presi- 



" I've been at the North lately, but I am not aware 
that is so." 

"So! it's damnably so, sir. I knows it. We don't 
mean to stand it eny longer." 

"What will you do?" 

"We'll give 'em h — 1, ef they want it!" 

"Will it not be necessary to agree among yourselves 
before you do that? I met a turpentine farmer below 
here who openly declared that he is friendly to abolish- 
ing slavery. He thinks the masters ' can make more 
money by hiring than by owning the negroes." 

"Yes, that's the talk of them North County* fellers, 
who've squatted round har. We'll hang every mother's 
son on 'em, by ." 

"I wouldn't do that: in a free country every man has 
a right to his opinions." 

"Not to sech opinions as them. A man may think, 
but he mustn't think onraasonable." 

" I don't know, but it seems to me reasonable, that if 

* The "North Counties" are the north-eastern portion of North Carolina, and 
include the towns of Washington and Newbern. They are an old turpentine 
region, and the trees are nearly exhausted. The finer virgin forests of South 
Carolina, and other cotton States, have tempted many of the North County 
farmers to emigrate thither, within the past ten years, and they now own nearly 
all the trees that are worked in South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida. They gen- 
erally have few slaves of their own, their hands being hired of wealthier men in 
their native districts. The "hiring" is an annual operation, and is done at Christ- 
mas time, when the negroes are frequently allowed to go home. They treat the 
slaves well give them an allowance of meat (salt pork or beef), as much corn as 
they can eat, and a gill of whiskey daily. No class of men at the South is so 
Industrious, energetic, and enterprising. Though not so well informed, they have 
many of the traits of our Ne v England farmers; in fact, are frequently called 
" North Carolina Yankees. 11 It was these people the overseer proposed to hang. 
The reader will doubtless think that " hanging was not good enough for them. 1 ' 



the negroes cost these farmers now one hundred and 
fifty dollars a year, and they could hire them, if free, for 
seventy-five or a hundred, that they would make by 

"Ab'lish'n! By — , sir, ye aint an ab'lishener, is ye?" 
exclaimed the fellow, in an excited manner, bringing his 
hand down on the table in a way that set the crockery 

" Come, come, my friend," I replied, in a mild tone, 
and as unruffled as a pool of water that has been out of 
a December night ; " you'll knock off the dinner things, 
and I'm not quite through." 

u Wal, sir, I've heerd yer from the Xorth, and I'd like 
to know if yer an ab'lishener." 

" My dear sir, you surprise me. You certainly can't 
expect a modest man like me to speak of himself." 

"Ye can speak of what ye d — please, but ye can't 
talk aVlish'n har, by — ," he said, again applying his 
hand to the table, till the plates and saucers jumped up, 
performed several jigs, then several reels, and then rolled 
over in graceful somersaults to the floor. 

At this juncture, the Colonel and Madam P 


Observing the fall in his crockery, and the general 
confusion of things, my host quietly asked, "What's 
to pay ?" 

I said nothing, but burst into a fit of laughter at the 
awkward predicament of the overseer. That gentleman 
also said nothing, but looked as if he would like to find 



vent through a rat-hole or a window-pane. Jim, how- 
ever, who stood at the back of my chair, gave his elo- 
quent thoughts utterance, very much as follows : 

" Moye hab 'suited Massa K , Cunnel, awful bad. 

He hab swore a blue streak at him, and called him a 

d — ab'lishener, jess 'cause Massa K Tvudn't get mad 

and sass him back. He hab disgrace your hosspital, 
Cunnel, wuss dan a nigga." 

The Colonel turned white with rage, and striding up 
to Moye, seized him by the throat, yelling, rather than 

speaking, these words : "You d 

, have you dared to insult a guest in my house?" 

" I did'nt mean to 'suit him," faltered out the overseer, 
his voice running through an entire octave, and chang- 
ing with the varying pressure of the Colonel's fingers 
on his throat ; " but he said he war an ab'lishener." 

" No matter what he said, he is my guest, and in my 
house he shall say what, he pleases, by — . Apologize to 
him, or I'll send you to h — in a second." 

The fellow turned cringingly to me, and ground out 
something like this, every word seeming to give him the 
face-ache : 

" I meant no offence, sar ; I hope ye'll excuse me." 

This satisfied me, but, before I could reply, the Colonel 
again seized him by the throat and yelled : 

"None of your sulkiness; you d — white-livered hound, 
ask the gentleman's pardon like a man." 

The fellow then got out, with less effort than before: 

"I 'umbly ax yer pardon, sar, very 'umbly, indeed." 



" I am satisfied, sir," I replied. " I bear you no ill- 

" Now go," said the Colonel ; " and in future take 
your meals in your cabin. I have none but gentlemen 
at my table." 

The fellow went. As soon as he closed the door, the 
Colonel said to me : 

" Now, my dear friend, I hope you will pardon me for 
this occurrence. I sincerely regret you have been in- 
sulted in my house." 

" Don't speak of it, my dear sir ; the fellow is igno- 
rant, and really thinks I am an abolitionist. His zeal 
in politics led to his warmth. I blame him very lit- 
tle," I replied. 

"But he lied, Massa K ," chimed in Jim, very 

warmly ; " you neber said you war an ab'lishener." 

" You know what they are, Jim, don't you ?" said the 
Colonel, laughing, and taking no notice of his breach of 
decorum in wedging black ideas into a white conver- 

" Yas, I does dat," said the darky, grinning. 

"Jim," said his master, "you're a prince of a nigger, 
but you talk too much ; ask me for something to-day, and 
I reckon you'll get it ; but go now, and tell Chloe (the 
cook) to get us some dinner." 

The negro left, and, excusing myself, I soon followed 

I went to my room, laid down on the lounge, and soon 
fell asleep. It was nearly five o'clock when a slight 



noise in the apartment awoke me, and, looking up, I 
saw the Colonel quietly seated by the fire, smoking a 
cigar. His feet were elevated above his head, and he 
appeared absorbed in no very pleasant reflections. 

" How is the sick boy, Colonel ?" I asked. 

" It's all over with him, my friend. He* died easy ; 
but 'twas very painful to me; I feel I have done him 

"How so ?" 

" I was away all summer, and that cursed Moye sent 
him to the swamp to tote for the shinglers. It killed 

" Then you are not to blame," I replied. 
" I wish I could feel so." 

The Colonel remained with me till supper-time, evi- 
dently much depressed by the events of the morning, 
which had affected him more than I should have thought 
possible. I endeavored, by directing his mind to other 
topics, to cheer him, and in a measure succeeded. 

While we were seated at the supper table, the black 
cook entered from the kitchen — a one-story shanty, de- 
tached from, and in the rear of the house — and, with a 
face expressive of every conceivable emotion a negro can 
feel — joy, sorrow, wonder, and fear all combined — ex- 
claimed, " O massa, massa! dear massa! Sam, O Sam!" 

" Sam !" said the Colonel ; " what about Sam ?" 

"Why, he hab — dear, dear massa, don't yer, don't yer 
hurt him — he hab come back !" 

If a bombshell had fallen in the room, a greater sen- 



sation could not have been produced. Every individual 
arose from the table, and the Colonel, striding up and 
down the apartment, exclaimed : 

" Is he mad ? The everlasting fool ! Why in h — has 
he come back ?" 

" Oh, don't ye hurt him massa," said the black cook, 
wringing her hands. " Sam hab been bad, bery bad, but 
he won't be so no more." 

"Stop your noise, aunty," said the Colonel, but with no 
harshness in his tone. " I shall do what I think right." 

" Send for him, David," said Madame P ; " let us 

hear what he has t o say. Pie would not come back -if he 
meant to be ugly." 

"Send for him, Alice!" repliec^ my host. "He's 
prouder than Lucifer, and would send me word to come 
to him. I will go. Will you accompany me, Mr. 

K ? You'll hear what a runaway nigger thinks of 

slavery: Sam has the gift of speech, and uses it regard- 
less of persons." 

" Yes, sir, I'll go with pleasure." 

It was about an hour after nightfall when we emerged 
from the door of the mansion and took our way to the 
negro quarters. The full moon had risen half way above 
the horizon, and the dark pines cast their shadows 
around the little collection of negro huts, which strag- 
gled about through the woods for the distance of a third 
of a mile. It was dark, but I could distinguish the fig- 
ure of a man striding along at a rapid pace a few hun- 
dred yards in advance of us. 



" Is'nt that Moye ?" I asked the Colonel, directing his 
attention to the receding figure. 

"I reckon so ; that's his gait. He's had a lesson to- 
day that'll do him good." 

" I don't like that man's looks," I replied, carelessly ; 
" but I've heard of singed cats." 

" He is a sneaking d — 1," said the Colonel ; " but he's 
very valuable to me. I never had an overseer who got 
so much work out of the hands." 

" Is he severe with them ?" 

" Well, I reckon he is ; but a nigger is like a dog — 
yon must flog him to make him like you." 

" I judge your niggers haven't been flogged into liking 

"Why, have you heard any of them speak of him?" 

" Yes ; though, of course, I've made no effort to draw 
gossip from them. ■ I had to hear." 

" O yes ; I know ; there's no end to their gabble ; nig- 
gers will talk. But what have you heard?" 

" That Moye is to blame in this affair of Sam, and that 
you clon't know the whole story." 

"What is the whole story?" he asked, stopping short 
in the road ; " tell me before I see Sam." 

I then told him what Jim had recounted to me. He 
heard me through attentively, then laughingly exclaimed: 

" Is that all ! Lord bless you, he didn't seduce her. 
There's no seducing these women; with them it's a 
thing of course. It was Sam's d — high blood that made 
the trouble. His father was the proudest man in Vir- 



ginia, and Sam is as like him as a nigger can be like a 
white man." 

" N o matter what the blood is, it seems to me such an 
injury justifies revenge." 

" Pshaw, my good fellow, you don't know these peo- 
ple. I'll stake my plantation against a glass of whiskey 
there's not a virtuous woman with a drop of black blood 
in her veins in all South Carolina. They prefer the white 
men ; their husbands know it, and take it as a matter of 

"VVe had here reached the negro cabin. It was one of 
the more remote of the collection, and stood deep in the 
woods, an enormous pine growing up directly beside 
the doorway. In all respects it was Jike the other huts 
on the plantation. A bright fire lit up its interior, and 
through the crevices in the logs we saw, as we ap- 
proached, a scene that made us pause involuntarily, 
when within a few rods of the house. The mulatto man, 
whose clothes were torn and smeared with swamp mud, 
stood near the fire. On a small pine table near him lay 
a large carving-knife, which glittered in the blaze, as if 
recently sharpened. His wife was seated on the side of 
the low bed at his back, weeping. She was two or three 
shades lighter than the man, and had the peculiar brown, 
kinky hair, straight, flat nose, and speckled, gray eyes 
which mark the metif. Tottling on the floor at the feet 
of the man, and caressing his knees, was a child of per- 
haps two years. 

As we neared the house, we heard the voice of the 



overseer issuing from the doorway on the other side of 
the pine-tree. 

" Come out, ye black rascal." 

" Come in, you wite hound, ef you dar," responded 
the negro, laying his hand on the carving-knife. 

" Come out, I till ye ; I sha'n't ax ye agin." 

"I'll hab nuffin' to do wid you. GVay and send 
your massa har," replied the mulatto man, turning his 
face away with a lordly, contemptuous gesture,, that 
spoke him a true descendant of Pocahontas. This move- 
ment exposed his left side to the doorway, outside of 
which, hidden from us by the tree, stood the overseer. 

"Come away, Moye," said the Colonel, advancing 
with me toward the door ; " Til speak to him." 

Before all of the words had escaped the Colonel's hps, 
a streak of fire flashed from where^ the overseer stood, 
and took the direction of the negro. One long, wild 
shriek — one quick, convulsive bound in the air — and 
Sam fell lifeless to tife floor, the dark life-stream pouring 
from his side. The little child also fell with him, and 
its greasy, grayish shirt was dyed with its father's blood. 
Moye, at the distance of ten feet, had discharged the 
two barrels of a heavily-loaded shot-gun directly through 
the negro's heart. 

"You incarnate son of h — ," yelled the Colonel, as he 
sprang on the overseer, bore him to the ground, and 
wrenched the shot-gun from his hand. Clubbing the 
weapon, he raised it to brain him. The movement oc- 
cupied but a second ; the gun was descending, and in 


another instant Moye would have met Sam in eternity, 
had not a brawny arm caught the Colonel's, and, wind- 
ing itself around his body, pinned his linibs to his side 
so that motion was impossible. The woman, half frantic 
with excitement, thrust open the door when her hus- 
band fell, and the light which came through it revealed 
the face of the new-comer. But his voice, which rang 
out on the night air as clear as a bugle, had there been 
no light, would have betrayed him. It was Scip. Spurn- 
ing the prostrate overseer with his foot, he shouted : 

"Run, you wite debblt run for your life!" 

"Let me go, you black scoundrel," shrieked the Col- 
onel, wild with rage. 

"When he'm out ob reach, you'd kill him," replied 
the negro, as cool as if he was doing an ordinary thing. 

" I'll kill you, you black — hound, if you don't let me 
go," again screamed the Colonel, struggling violently in 
the negro's grasp, and literally foaming at the mouth. 

" I shan't lef you gwo, Cunnel, 'till you 'gree not to 
do dat." 

The Colonel was a stout, athletic man, in the very 
prime of life, and his rage gave 'him more than his ordi- 
nary strength, but Scip held him as I might have held a 

" Here, Jim," shouted the Colonel to his body-servant, 
who just then emerged from among the trees, " 'rouse 
the plantation—shoot this d— nigger." 

" Dar aint one on 'em wud touch him, massa. He'd 
send me to de debble wid one fist." 



" You ungrateful dog," groaned his master. " Mr. 

K , will you stand by and see me handcuffed by a 

miserable slave ?" 

" The black means well, my friend ; he has saved you 
from murder. Say he is safe, and I'll answer for \m 
being away in an hour." 

The Colonel made one more ineffectual attempt to free 
himself from the vice-like grip of the negro, then relax- 
ing his efforts, and, gathering his broken breath, he said, 
"You're safe now, but if you're found within ten miles 
of my plantation by sunrise, by — } ">u're a dead man." 

The negro relinquished his hold, and, without saying 
a word, walked slowly away. 

" Jim, you — rascal," said the Colonel to that courage- 
ous darky, wlio was skulking off, " raise every nigger 
on the plantation, catch Moye, or I'll flog you within ;in 
inch of your life." 

" I'll do dat, Cunnel ; I'll kotch de ole debble, ef he's 
dis side de hot place." 

His words were echoed by about twenty other darkies, 
who, attracted by the noise of the fracas, had gathered 
within a safe distance of the cabin. They went off with 
Jim, to raise the other plantation hands, and inaugurate 
the hunt. 

" If that — nigger hadn't held me, I'd had Moye in 
— by this time," said the Colonel to me, still livid with 

" The law will deal with him, my friend. The negro 
has saved you from murder.' 


" The law be d — ; it's too good for such a — hound ; 
and that the d — nigger should have dared to hold me — - 
by — he'll rue it." 

He then turned, exhausted with the recent struggle, 
and, with a weak, uncertain step, entered the cabin. 
Kneeling down by the dead body of the negro, he at- 
tempted to raise it; but his strength was gone. He 
motioned to me to aid him, and we placed the corpse on 
thb bed. Tearing open the clothing, we wiped away 
the still flowing blood, and saw the terrible wound which 
had sent the negro to his account. It was sickening to 
look on, and I turned to go. 

The negro woman, who was weeping and wringing 
her hands, now approached, and, in a voice nearly choked 
with sobs, said : 

" Massa, oh massa, I done it ! it's me dat killed him !" 

" I know you did, you d . Get out of my sight." 

a Oh, massa," sobbed the woman, falling on her knees, 
" I'se so sorry ; oh, forgib me !" 

" Go to — , you , that's the place for you," said 

the Colonel, striking the kneeling woman with his foot, 
and felling her to the floor. 

Unwilling to see or hear more, I left the master with 
the slave. 





A quarter of a mile through the woods brought 
me to the cabin of the old negress where Scip lodged. 
I rapped at the door, and was admitted by the old wo- 
man. Scip, nearly asleep, was lying on a pile of blan- 
kets in the corner. 

"Are you mad?" I said to him. "The Colonel is 
frantic with rage, and swears he will kill you. You 
must be off at once." 

" No, no, massa ; neber fear ; I knows him. He'd 
keep his word, ef he loss his life by it. I'm gwine afore 
sunrise ; till den I'm safe." 

" Der ye tint Massa Davy wud broke his word, sar ?" 
said the old negress, bridling up her bent form, and speak- 
ing in a tone in which indignation mingled with wound- 
ed dignity; "p'raps gem men do dat at de Norf — dey 
neber does it har." 

- " Excuse me, Aunty; I know your master is a man of 
honor ; but he's very much excited, and very angry with 

"No matter for dat, sar; Massa Davy neber done a 
mean ting sense he war born." 

" Massa K tinks a heap ob de Cunnel, Aunty; but 



he reckon he'm sort o' crazy now ; dat make him 
afeard," said Scip, in an apologetic tone. 

"What ef he am crazy? You'se safe Jiar" rejoined 
the old woman, dropping her aged limbs into a eh air, 
and rocking away with much the air which ancient white 
ladies occasionally assume. 

" Wont you ax Massa K to a cheer ?" said Scip ; 

"he hab ben bery kine to me." 

The negress then offered me a seat ; but it was some * 
minutes before I rendered myself sufficiently agreeable 
to thaw out the icy dignity of her manner. Meanwhile 
I glanced around the apartment. 

Though the exterior of the cabin was like the others 
on the plantation, the interior had a rude, grotesque ele- 
gance about it far in advance of any negro hut I had 
ever seen. The logs were chinked with clay, and the 
one window, though destitute of glass, and ornamented 
with the inevitable board-shutter, had a green moreen 
curtain, which kept out the wind and the rain. A worn 
but neat and well swept carpet partly covered the floor, 
and on the low bed was spread a patch-work counter- 
pane. Against the side of the room opposite the door 
stood an antique, brass-handled bureau, and an old-fash- 
ioned table, covered with a faded woollen cloth, occu- 
pied the centre of the apartment. In the corner near 
the fire was a curiously-contrived sideboard, made of 
narrow strips of yellow pine, tongued and grooved to- 
gether, and oiled so as to bring out the beautiful grain of 
the wood. On it were several broken and cracked 



glasses, and an array of irregular crockery. The rock- 
ing chair, in which the old negress passed the mcst of 
her time, was of mahogany, wadded and covered with* 
chintz, and the arm-seat I occupied, though old and 
patched in many places, had evidently moved in good 

The mistress of this second-hand furniture establish- 
ment was arrayed in a mass of cast-off finery, whose 
gay -colors were in striking contrast with her jet-black 
skin and bent, decrepit form. Her gown, which was 
very short, was o± flaming red and yellow worsted stuff, 
and the enormous turban that graced her head and hid 
all but a few tufts of her frizzled, " pepper-and-salt" 
locks, was evidently a contribution from the family stock 
of worn-out pillow-cases. She was very aged — upward 
of seventy — and so thin that, had she not been endowed 
with speech and motion, she might have passed for a bun- 
dle of whalebone thrown into human shape, and covered 
with a coating of gutta-percha. It was evident she had 
been a valued house-servant, whose few remaining years 
were being soothed and solaced by the kind and indul- 
gent care of a grateful master. 

Scip, I soon saw, was a favorite with the old negress, 
and the marked respect he showed me quickly dispelled 
the angry feeling my doubts of " Massa Davy" had ex- 
cited, and opened her heart and her mouth at the same 
moment. She was terribly garrulous; her tongue, as 
soon as it got under way, ran on as if propelled by ma- 
chinery and acquainted with the secret of perpetual mo- 



tion; but she was an interesting Vtudy. The single- 
hearted attachment she showed for her master and his 
family gave me a new insight into the practical working 
of "the peculiar institution," and convinced me that 
even slavery, in some of its aspects, is not so black as it 
is painted.- 

When we were seated, I said to Scip, " What induced 
you to lay hands on the Colonel ? It is death, you 
know, if he enforces the law." 

" I knows dat, massa ; I knows dat ; but I had to do 
it. Dat Moye am de ole debble, but de folks round hai 
wud hab turned on de Cunnel, shore, ef he'd killed him, 
Dey don't like de Cunnel; dey say he'm a stuck-up sesh- 

" The Colonel, then, has befriended you at some 
time ?" 

u No, no, sar ; 'twarn't dat ; dough I'se know'd him 
a long w'ile — eber sense my ole massa fotched me from 
Ilabana — but 'twarn't dat." 

" Then why did you do it ?" 

The black hesitated a moment, and glanced at the old 
negress, then said : 

"You see, massa, w'en I'fuss come to Charles'n, a 
pore little ting, wid no friend in all de worle, dis ole 
aunty war a mudder to me. She nussed de Cunnel ; he 
am jess like her own chile, and I know'd 'twud kill her 
ef he got hissef enter trubble." 

I noticed certain convulsive twitchings about the cor- 
ners of the old woman's mouth as she rose from her 



seat, threw her arms around Scip, and, in words broken 
by sobs, faltered out : 

" You am my chile ; I loves you better dan Massa 
Davy — better dan all de worle." 

The scene, had they not been black, would have been 
one for a painter. 

" You were the Colonel's nurse, Aunty," I said, 
when she had regained her composure. "Have you 
always lived with him ?" 

" Yas, sar, allers ; I nussed him, and den de chil'ren — ■ 
all ob 'em." 

" All the children ? I thought the Colonel had but 
one — Miss Clara." 

" Wal, he habn't, massa, only de boys." 

" What boys ? I never heard he had sons." 

" Neber heerd of young Massa Davy, nor Massa Tom- 
my ! Haint you seed Massa Tommy,* sar ?" 

" Tommy ! I was told he was Madam P 's 


" So he am ; Massa Davy had her long afore he had 

The truth flashed upon me ; but could it be possible ? 
Was I in South Carolina or in Utah ? 

" Who is Madam P ?" I asked. 

The old woman hesitated a moment as if in doubt 
whether she had not said too much ; but Scip quietly 
replied : 

'" She'm jess what amity am — de CwmeVs slave P 
M His slave! it can't be possible; she is white!" 



" No, massa ; she am brack, andx^e Gunnel's slave !" 

Not to weary the reader with a long repetition of 
negro-English, I will tell in brief what I gleaned from an 
hour's conversation with the two blacks. 

Madam P — — was the daughter of Ex-Gov. } 

of Virginia, by a quarteron woman. She was born a 
slave, but was acknowledged as her father's child, and 
reared in his family with his legitimate children. When 
she was ten years old her father died, and his estate 
proving insolvent, the land and negroes were brought 
under the hammer. His daughter, never having been 
manumitted, was inventoried and sold with the othei 
property; The Colonel, then just of age, and a young 
man of fortune, bought her and took her to the resi- 
dence of his mother in Charleston. A governess was 
provided for her, and a year or two afterward she was 
taken to the Noivth to be educated. There she was fre- 
quently visited by the Colonel ; and when fifteen her 
condition became such that she was obliged to return 
home. He conveyed her to the plantation, where her 
elder son, David, was soon after born, "Aunt Lucy" 
officiating on the occasion. When the child was two 
years old, leaving it in charge of the aged negress, she 
accompanied the Colonel to Europe, where they re- 
mained for a year. Subsequently she passed anothei 
year at a Northern seminary ; and then, returning to 
the homestead, was duly installed as its mistress, and 
had ever since presided over its domestic affairs. She 
-^as kind and good to the negroes, who were greatly 




attached to her, and much of the Colonel's wealth was 
due to her excellent management of the plantation. 

Six years after the birth of " young Massa Davy," 
the Colonel married his present wife, that lady having 
full knowledge of his left-handed connection with Mad- 
am P , and consenting that the " bond-woman" should 

remain on the plantation, as its mistress. The legitimate 
wife resided, during most of the year, in Charleston, 
and when at the homestead took little interest in domes- 
tic matters. On one of her visits to the plantation, 
twelve years before, her daughter, Miss Clara, was born, 

and within a week, under the same roof, Madam P 

presented' the Colonel with a son — the lad Thomas, of 
whom I have spoken. As the mother was slave, the 
children were so also at birth, but they had been 
manumitted by their father. One of them was being' 
educated in Germany ; and it was intended that both 
should spend their lives in that country, the taint in 
their blood being an insuperable bar to their ever ac- 
quiring social position at the South. 

As she finished the story, the old woman said, " Massa 
Davy am bery kind to the missus, sar, but he love de 
ma'am ; an' he can't help it, 'cause she'm jess so good 
as de angels."* 

* Instances are frequent where Southern gentlemen form these left-handed 
connections, and rear two sets of differently colored children ; but it is not often 
that the two families occupy the same domicil. The only other case within my 
personal knowledge was that of the well-known President of the Bank of St. 

M , at Columbus, Ga. That gentlemarr, whose note ranked in Wall Street, 

when the writer was acquainted with that locality, as " A No. 1," lived for fifteen 
years with two "wives" under one roof. One, an accomplished white woman, 


% * 

I looked at my watch — it was nearly ten o'clock, and 
I rose to go. As I did so the old negress said : 

" Don't yer gwo, massa, 'fore yon hab sum ob aunty's 
wine ; you'm good friends wid Scip, and I knows you^se 
not too proud to drink wid brack folks, ef you am from 
de Norf." 

Being curious to know what quality of wine a planta- 
tion slave indulged in, I accepted the invitation. She 
went to the side-board, and brought out a cut-glass de- 
canter, and three cracked tumblers, which she placed on 
the table. ' Filling the glasses to the brim, she passed 
one to Scip, and one to me, and, with the other in her 
hand, resumed her seat. Wishing her a good many 
happy years, and Scip a pleasant journey home, I emp- 
tied my glass. It was Scuppernong, and the pure juice 
of the grape ! 

" Aunty," I said, "this wine is as fine as' I ever tasted." 
" Oh, yas, massa, it am de raaj stuff. I growed de 
grapes myseff." 

" You grew them?" 

" Yas, sar, an' Massa Davy make de wine. He do it 
ebery yar for de ole nuss." 

and the mother of several children — did the honors of his table, and moved with 
him in "the best society; 11 the other — a beautiful quadroon, also the mother of 
several children — filled the humbler office of nurse to her own and the others 

In conversation with a well-known Southern gentleman, not long since, I men- 
tioned these two cases, and commented on them as a man educated with New 
England ideas might be supposed to do. The gentleman admitted that he knew 
of twenty such instances, and gravely defended the practice as being infinitely 
more moral and respectable than the more common relation existing between 
masters and slaves. 


" The Colonel is very good. Do you raise any thing 
else ?!' ♦ 

" Yas, I hab cOllards and taters, a little corn, and 
most ebery ting." 

"But who does your work? Yoiu certainly can't 
do it ?" 

" Oh, de ma'am looks arter dat, sar ; she'm bery good 
to de oie aunty." 

Shaking hands with both the negroes, I left the cabin, 
fully convinced that all the happiness in this world is 
not found within plastered apartments. 

The door of the mansion was bolted and barred ; but, 
rapping for admission, I soon heard the Colonel's voice 
asking, " Who is there ?" Giving a satisfactory an- 
swer, I was admitted. Explaining that he supposed I 
f had retired to my room, he led the way to the li- 

That apartment was much more elegantly furnished 
than the drawing-rooms. Three of its sides were lined 
with books, and on the centre-table, papers, pamphlets, 
and manuscripts were scattered in promiscuous confu- 
sion. In an arm-chair near the fire, Madame P was 

seated, reading. The Colonel's manner was as composed 
as if nothing had disturbed the usual routine of the 
plantation ; no trace of the recent terrible excitement 
was visible ; in fact, had I not been a witness to the late 
tragedy, I should have thought it incredible that he, 
within two hours, had been an actor in a scene which 
had cost a human being his life. 


" Where in creation have you^&een, my dear fellow?' 
he asked, as we took our seats. 

" At old Lucy's cabin, -with Scip,* 5 I replied. 

" Indeed. I supposed the darky had gone." 

" No, he doesn't go till the morning." 

" I told you he wouldn't, David," said Madame P ; 

" now, send for him — make friends with him before he 

" No, Alice, it wont do. I bear him no ill-will, but it 
wont do. It would be all over the - plantation in an hour." 

" No matter for that ; our people would like you the 
better for it." 

" No, no. I can't do it. I mean him no harm, but I 
can't do that." 

"He told me why he interfered between you flbd 
Moye," I remarked. ^ 

"Why did he ?" 

" He says old Lucy, years ago, was a mother to hini ; 
that she is greatly attached to you, and it would kill her 
if any harm happened to you ; and that your neighbors 
bear you no good- will, and would have enforced the law 
had you killed Moye." 

" It is true, David ; you would have had to answer 
for it." 

u Nonsense ! what influence could this North County 
scum have against me ?" 

" Perhaps none. But that mal^^io difference ; Scipio 
did right, and you should tell him you forgive him." 

The Colonel then rang a small bell, and a negro' wo- 



man soon appeared. " Sue," he said, " go to Aunt 
Lucy's, and ask Scip to come here. Bring him in at the 
front door, and, mind, let no one know he comes." 

The woman in a short time returned with Scip. There 
was not a trace of fear or embarrassment in the negro's 
manner as he entered the room. Making a respectful 
bow, he bade us " good evening." 

" Good evening, Scip," said the Colonel, rising and 
giving the black his hand ; " let us be friends. Madam 
tells me I should forgive you, and I do." 

" Aunt Lucy say ma'am am an angel, sar, and it am 
tru — it am tru, sar," replied the negro with considera- 
ble feeling. 

The lady rose, also, and took Scip's hand, saying, " I 
sfit only forg've you, but I thank you for what you have 
done. I shf il never forget it." 

" You'se too good, ma'am ; you'se too good to say 
dat," replied the darky, the moisture coming to his eyes; 
" but I meant nuffin' wrong — I meant nuffin' dis'specful 
to de Cunnel." 

"I know you didn't, Scip ; but we'll say no more about 
it ; — good-by," said the Colonel. 

Shaking hands with each one of us, the darky left the 

One who does not know that the high-bred Southern 
gentleman considers the black as far below him as the 
horse he drives, dog he kicks, cannot realize the 

amazing sacrifice of pride which the Colonel made in 
seeking a reconciliation with Scip. It was the cutting 


off of his right hand. The circumstance showed the 
powerful influence held over him by the octoroon wo- 
man. Strange that she, his slave, cast out from society 
by her blood and her life, despised, no doubt, by all the 
world, save by him and a few ignorant blacks, should 
thus control a proud, self-willed, passionate man, and 
control him, too, only for good. 

After the black had gone, I said to the Colonel, " I 
was much interested in old Lucy. » A few more such in- 
stances of cheerful and contented old age, might lead 
me to think better of slavery." 

" Such cases are not rare, sir. They show the pater- 
nal character of our ' institution.' We are forced to 
care for oiir servants in their old age." 

" But have your other aged slaves the same comforts 
that Aunt Lucy has ?" 

" No ; they don't need them. She has been accus- 
tomed to live in my house, and to fare better than the 
plantation hands ; she therefore requires better treat- 

" Is not the support of that class a heavy tax upon 
you ?" 

"Yes, it is heavy. "We have, of course, to deduct it 
from the labor of the able-bodied hands." 

" What is the usual proportion of sick and infirm on 
your plantation ?" 

" Counting in the child-bearing women, I reckon about 
twenty per cent." 

"And what does it cost you to support each hand?" 



" Well, it costs me, for children and all, about seven- 
ty-five dollars a year. In some places it costs less. I 
have to buy all my provisions." 

" What proportion of your slaves are able-bodied 
hands ?" 

" Somewhere about sixty per cent. I have, all told, 
old and young — men, women, and children — two hun- 
dred and seventy. Out of that number I have now 
equal to a hundred and fifty-four full hands. You un- 
derstand that we classify them : some do only half tasks, 
some three-quarters. I have more than a hundred and 
fifty-four working-men and women, but they do only 
that number of full tasks." 

" What does the labor of a full hand yield ?" 

" At the present price of turpentine, my calculation is 
about two hundred dollars a year." 

" Then your crop brings you about thirty-one thou- 
sand dollars, and the support of your negroes costs you 
twenty thousand." 


" If that's the case, my friend, let me advise you to 
sell your plantation, free your niggers, and go North." 

"Why so, my dear fellow?" asked the Colonel laugh • 

" Because you'd make money by the operation/' 

" I never was good at arithmetic; go into the figures," 

he replied, still laughing, while Madam P , who had 

laid aside her book, listened very attentively. 

" Well, you have two hundred and seventy negroes, 



whom you value, we'll say, with your mules, 'stills,' 
and movable property, at two hundred thousand dollars ; 
and twenty thousand acres of land, worth about three 
dollars and a half *an acre ; all told, two hundred and 
seventy thousand dollars. A hundred and fifty-four able- 
bodied hands produce you a yearly profit of eleven thou- 
sand dollars, which, saying nothing about the cost of 
keeping your live stock, the wear and tear of your mules 
and machinery, and the yearly loss of your slaves by 
death, is only four per cent, on your capital. Now, with 
only the price of your land, say seventy thousand dol- 
lars, invested in safe stocks at the North, you could 
realize eight per cent. — five thousand six hundred 
dollars — and live at ease; and that, I judge, if you 
have many runaways, or many die on your hands, is as 
much as you really clear now. Besides, if you should 
invest seventy thousand dollars in almost any legitimate 
business at the North, and should add to it, as you now 
do, your time and labor, you would realize far more than 
you do at present from your entire capital." 

" I never looked at the matter in that light. But I 
have given you my profits as they now are ; some years 
I make more ; six years ago I made twenty-five thousand 

" Yes ; and six years hence you may make nothing." 
" That's true. But it would cost me more to live at 
the North." 

" There you are mistaken. What do you pay for your 
corn, your pork, and your hay, for instance ?" 



" Well, my corn I have to bring round by vessel from 
Washington (North Carolina), and it costs me high when 
it gets here — about ten bits (a dollar and twenty-five 
cents), I think." 

"And in New York you could buy it now at sixty to 
seventy cents. What does your hay cost ?" 

"Thirty-five dollars. I pay twenty for it in New 
York — the balance is freight and hauling." 

" Your pork costs you two or three Hollars, I suppose, 
for freight and hauling." 

" Yes ; about that." 

" Then in those items you might save nearly a hun- 
dred per cent.; and they are the principal articles you 

" Yes ; there's no denying that. But another tiling 
is just' as certain : it costs less to support one of my 
niggers than one of your laboring men." 

"That maybe true. But it only shows that our 
laborers fare better than your slaves." 

" I am not sure of that. I am sure, however, that our 
slaves are more contented than the run of laboring men 
at the North." 

" That proves nothing. Your blacks have no hope, 
no chance to rise; and they submit — though I judge not 
cheerfully — to an iron necessity. The Northern laborer, 
if very poor, may be discontented ; but discontent urges 
him to effort, and leads to the bettering of his condition. 
I tell you, my friend, slavery is an expensive luxury. 



Tou Southern nabobs will have it; and you have to pay 
for it." 

"Well, we don't complain. But, seriously, my good 
fellow, I feel that I am carrying out the design of the 
Almighty in holding my niggers. I think he made the 
black to serve the white." 

"i" think," I replied, "that whatever He designs works 
perfectly. Your institution certainly does not. It 
keeps the producer, who, in every society, is the really 
valuable citizen, in the lowest poverty, while it allows 
those who do nothing to be 'clad in fine linen, and to 
fare sumptuously every day.' " 

"It does more than that, sir," said Madam P , 

with animation; " it brutalizes and degrades the master 
and the slave; it separates husband and wife, parent and 
child ; it sacrifices virtuous women to the lust of brutal 
men ; and it shuts millions out from the knowledge of 
their duty and their destiny. A good and just God 
could not have designed it; and it must come to an 

If lightning had struck in the room I could nothave 
been more startled than I was by the abrupt utterance 
of such language in a planter's house, in his very pres- 
ence, and by his slave. The Colonel, however, expressed 
no surprise and no disapprobation. It was evidently no 
new thing to him. 

"It is rare, madam," I said, "to hear such sentiments 
from a Southern lady — one reared among slaves." 

Before she could reply, the Colonel laughingly said : 



"Bless you, Mr. K , madam is an out-and-out 

abolitionist, worse by fifty per cent, than Garrison or 
Wendell Phillips. If she were at the North she would 
take to pantaloons, and 'stump' the entire free States; 
wouldn't you, Alice ?" 

"I have no doubt of it," rejoined the lady, smiling. 
"But I fear I should have poor success. I've tried for 

ten years to convert you^ and Mr. K can see the 


It had grown late ; and with my head full of working 
niggers and white slave- women, I went to my apartment. 

The next day was Sunday. It was near the close of 
December, yet the air was as mild and the sun as warm 
as in our Northern October. It was arranged at the 
breakfast-table that we all should attend service at "the 
meeting-house," a church of the Methodist persuasion, 
located some eight miles away ; but as it wanted some 
hours of the time for religious exercises to commence, I 
strolled out after breakfast, with the Colonel, to inspect 
the stables of the plantation. " Massa Tommy" accom- 
panied us, without invitation; and in the Colonel's in- 
tercourse with him I observed as much freedom and 
familiarity as he would have shown to an acknowledged 
son. The youth's manners and conversation showed 
that great attention had been given to his education and 
training, and made it evident that the mother whose 
influence was forming his character, whatever a false 
system of society had made her life v possessed some of 
the best traits of her sex. 



The stables, a collection of one-story framed buildings, 
about a hundred rods from the house, were well lighted 
and ventilated, and contained all " the modern improve- 
ments." They were better built, warmer, more com- 
modious, and in every way more comfortable than the 
shanties occupied by the human cattle of the plantation. 
I remarked as much to the Colonel, adding that one 
who did not know would infer that he valued his horses 
more than his slaves. 

" That may be true," he replied, laughing. " Two of 
my horses are worth more than any eight of my slaves ;" 
at the same time calling my attention to two magnifi- 
cent thorough-breds, one of which had made " 2.32" on 
the Charleston course. The establishment of a Southern 
gentleman is not complete until it includes one or two 
of these useless appendages. I had an argument with 
my host as to their value compared with that of the 
steam-engine, in which I forced him to admit that the 
iron horse is the better of the two, because it performs 
more work, eats less, has greater speed, and is not liable 
to the spavin or the heaves ; but he wound up by say- 
ing, "After all, I go for the thorough-breds. You Yan- 
kees have but one test of value — use." 

A ramble through the negro-quarters, which followed 
our visit to the stables, gave me some further glimpses 
of plantation life. Many of the hands were still away 
in pursuit of Moye, but enough remained to. make it 
evident that Sunday is the happiest day in the darky 
calendar. Groups of all ages and colors were gathered 


in front of several of the cabins, some singing, some 
dancing, and others chatting quietly together, but all 
enjoying themselves as heartily as so many young ani- 
mals let loose in a pasture. They saluted the Colonel 
and me respectfully, but each one had a free, good- 
natured word for "Massa Tommy," who seemed an 
especial favorite with them. The lad took their greet- 
ings in good part, but preserved an easy, unconscious 
dignity of manner that plainly showed he did not know 
that he too was of their despised, degraded race. 

The Colonel, in a rapid way, gave me the character 
and peculiarities of nearly every one we met. The titles 
of some of them amused me greatly. At every step we 
encountered individuals whose names have become house- 
hold words in every civilized country.* Julius Caesar, 
slightly stouter than when he swam the Tiber, and some- 
what tanned from long exposure to a Southern sun, was 
seated on a wood-pile, quietly smoking a pipe ; while 
near him, Washington, divested of regimentals, and 
clad in a modest suit of reddish-gray, his thin locks 
frosted by time, and his fleshless visage showing great 
age, was gazing, in rapt admiration, at a group of 
dancers in front of old Lucy's cabin. 

Li this group about thirty men and women were 
making the ground quake and the woods ring with their 
unrestrained jollity. Marc Antony was rattling away 

* Among the things of which slavery has deprived the black is a name. A 
ilave has no family designation. It may be for that reason that a high-sounding 
•pfMfllation ia usually selected for the single one ho is allowed to appropriate 

• 146 


at the bones, Nero fiddling as if Rome were burning, 
and Hannibal clawing at a banjo as if the fate of Car- 
thage hung on its strings. Napoleon, as young and as 
lean as when he mounted the bridge of Lodi, with the 
battle-smoke still on his face, was moving his legs even 
faster than in the Russian retreat ; and Wesley was using 
his heels in a way that showed they didn't belong to the 
Methodist chufth. But the central figures of the group 
were Cato and Victoria. The lady had a face like a 
thunder-cloud, and a form that, if whitewashed, would 
have outsold the " Greek Slave." She was built on 
springs, and " floated in the dance" like a feather in a 
high wind. Cato's mouth was like an alligator's, but 
when it opened, it issued notes that would draw the 
specie even in this time of general suspension. As we 
approached he was singing a song, but he paused on 
perceiving us, when the Colonel, tossing a handful of 
coin among them, called out, "Go on, boys ; let the gen- 
tleman have some music ; and you, Vic, show your heels 
like a beauty." 

A general scramble followed, in which " Vic's" sense 
of decorum forbade her to join, and she consequently 
got - nothing. Seeing that, I tossed her a silver piece, 
which she caught. Grinning her thanks, she shouted, 
" Now, clar . de track, you nigs ; start de music. I'se 
gwine to gib de gemman de breakdown." 

And she did ; and such a breakdown ! " We w'ite 
folks," though it was no new thing to the Colonel or 
Tommy, almost burst with laughter. 

the planter's " family." 


In a few minutes nearly every negro on the plantation, 
attracted by the presence of the Colonel and myself, 
gathered around the performers ; and a shrill voice at 
my elbow called out, "Look har, ye lazy, good-for- 
nuffin' niggers, carn't ye fotch a cheer for Massa Davy 
and de strange gemman ?" 

" Is that you, Aimty ?" said the Colonel. " How d'ye 
do ?" * 

" Sort o' smart, Massa Davy ; sort o' smart ; how is 

" Pretty well, Aunty ; pretty well. Have a seat." 
And the Colonel helped her to one of the chairs that 
were brought for us, with as much tenderness as he 
would have shown to an aged white lady. 

The "exercises," which had been suspended for a 
moment, recommenced, and the old negress entered into 
them as heartily as the youngest pres|nt. A song from 
Cato followed the dance, and then jbout twenty "gen- 
tleman and lady" darkies joined, two at a time, in a half 
" walk-round" half breakdown, which the Colonel told 
me was the original of the well-known dance and song 
of Lucy Long. Other performances succeeded, and the 
whole formed a scene impossible to describe. Such up- 
roarious jollity, such full and perfect enjoyment, I had 
never seen in humanity, black or white# The little nigs, 
only four or five years old, would rush into the ring and 
shuffle away at the breakdowns till I feared their short 
legs would come off; while all the darkies joined in the 
songs, till the branches of the old pines above shook aa 



if they too had caught the spirit of the music. In the 
midst of it, the Colonel said to me, in an exultant tone : 

" W ell, my friend, what do you think of slavery - 
now ?" 

"About- the same that I thought yesterday. I see 
nothing to change my views." 

"Why, are not these people happy ? Is not this per- 
fect enjoyment ?" 

" Yes ; just the same enjoyment that aunty's pigs are 
having; don't you hear them singing to the music? I'll 
wager they are the happier of the two." 

" Xo ; you are wrong. The higher faculties of the 
darkies are being brought out here." 

" I don't know that," I replied. " Within the sound 
of their voices, two of their fellows — victims to the in- 
humanity of slavery — are lying dead, and yet they make 
Sunday "hideous" with wild jollity, while Sam's fate 
may be theirs to-mtrrow." 

Spite of his genuine courtesy and high breeding, a 
shade of displeasure passed over the Colonel's face as I 
made this remark. Rising to go, he said, a little im- 
patiently, "Ah, I see how it is; that d — Garrison's 
sentiments have impregnated even you. How can the 
North and the South hold together when moderate men 
like you and me are so far apart ?" 

"But you," I rejoined, good-humoredly, "are not a 
moderate man. You and Garrison are of the same* 
stripe, both extremists. You have mounted one hobby, 
he another ; that is all the difference." 



" I should be sorry," he replied, recovering his good- 
nature, " to think myself like Garrison. I consider him 
the scoundrel unhung." 

"No; I think he means well. But you are both 
fanatics, both 'bricks' of the same material; we con- 
servatives, like mortar, will hold you together and yet 
keep you apart." 

" I, for one, won't be held. If I can't get out of this 
cursed Union in any other way, I'll emigrate to Cuba." 

I laughed, and just then, looking up, caught a glimpse 
of Jim, who stood, hat in hand, waiting to speak to the 
Colonel, but not daring to interrupt a white conversation. 

" Hallo, Jim," I said ; c have you got back ?" 

" Yas, sar," replied Jim, grinning all over as if he had 
some agreeable thing to communicate. 

" Where is Moye ?" asked the Colonel. 

"Kotched, massa ; I'se got de padlocks on him." 

" Kotched," echoed half a dozen, darkies, who stood 
near enough to hear;-"01e Isl^fe is kotched," ran 
through the crowd, till the music ceased, and a shout 
went up from two hundred black throats that made the 
old trees tremble. 

" Now gib him de lashes, -Massa Davy," cried the old 
nurse. " Gib him what he gabe pore Sam ; but mine 
dat you keeps widin de law." 

"Never fear, Aunty," said the Colonel; 'Til give 
him — ." 

How the CoLnel kept his word will be told in another 





The " Ole Cabin" to which Jim had alluded as the 
scene of Sam's punishment by the overseer, was a one- 
story shanty in the vicinity of the stables. Though fast 
falling to decay, it had more the appearance of a human 
habitation than the other huts on the plantation. Its 
thick plank door was ornamented with a mouldy brass 
knocker, and its four windows contained sashes, to 
which here and there clung a, broken pane, the surviving 
relic of its better days. It was built of large unhewn 
logs, notched at the ends and laid one upon the other, 
with the bark still on. The thick, rough coat which yet 
adhered in patches to the timber had opened in the sun, 
and let the rain ancr4he worm burrow in its sides, till 
some parts had crumbled entirely away. At one corner 
the process of decay had gone on till roof, superstruc- 
ture, and foundation had rotted down and left an open- 
ing large enough to admit a coach and four horses. The 
huge chimneys which had graced the gable ends of the 
building were fallen in, leaving only a mass of sticks and 
clay to tell of their existence, and two wide openings to 
show how great a figure they had once made in the 
world. A small space in front of the cabin would have 
been a lawn, had the grass been willing to grow upon 



it ; and a few acres of cleared land in its rear might have 
passed for a garden, had it not been entirely overgrown 
with young pines and stubble. This primitive structure 
was once the " mansion" of that broad plantation, and, 
before the production of turpentine came into fashion in 
that region, its rude owner drew his support from . its 
few surrounding acres, more truly independent than the 
present aristocratic proprietor, who, raising only one 
article, and buying all his provisions, was forced to draw 
his support from the Yankee or the Englishman. 

Only one room, about forty feet square, occupied the 
interior of the cabin. It once contained several apart- 
ments, vestiges of which still remained, but the parti- 
tions had been torn away to fit it for its present uses. 
What those uses were, a moment's observation showed 

In the middle of the floor, a space about fifteen feet 
square was covered with thick pine planking, strongly 
nailed to the beams. In the centre r of this planking, an 
oaken block was firmly bolted, and to it was fastened a 
strong iron staple that held a log-chain, to which was 
attached a pair of shackles. Above this, was a queer 
frame-work of oak, somewhat resembling the contri- 
vance for drying fruit I have seen in Yankee farm- 
houses. Attached to the rafters by stout pieces of tim- 
ber, were two hickory poles, placed horizontally, and 
about four feet apart, the lower one rather more than 
eight feet from the floor. This was the whipping-rack, 
and hanging to it were several stout whips with' short 



hickory handles, and long triple lashes. I took one down 
for closer inspection, and found li urned into the wood, 
in large letters, the words " Moral Suasion.'' I ques- 
tioned the appropriateness of the label, but the Colonel 
insisted with great gravity, that the whip is the only 
" moral suasion" a darky is capable of understanding. 

When punishment is innicteti on one of the Colonel's 
negroes, his^ feet are confined in the shackles, his arms 
tied above his head, and drawn by a stout cord up to 
one of the horizontal poles; then, his back bared to 
the waist, and standing on tip-toe, with every muscle 
stretched to its utmost tension, he takes "de lashes." 

A more severe but more unusual punishment is the 
" thumb-screw." In this a noose is passed around the 
negro's thumb and fore-finger, while the cord is thrown 
over the upper cross-pole, and the culprit is drawn up 
till his toes barely touch the ground. In this position 
the whole weight of the body rests on the thumb and 
fore-finger. The torture is excruciating, and strong, 
able-bodied men can endure it but a few moments. The 
Colonel naively told me that he had discontinued its 
practice, as several of his vjome?i had nearly lost the 
use of their hands, and been incapacitated for field labor, 

by its too frequent repetition. " My drivers,"* he 

added, "have no discretion, and no humanity; if they 
have a pique against a nigger, they show him no mercy." 

The old shanty I have described was now the place of 
the overseer's confinement. Open as it was at top, bofc- 

* The negro-whippers and field overseers. 



torn, and sides, it seemed an unsafe prison-house ; but 
Jim had secured its present occupant by placing "de 
padlocks on him." 

" Where did you catch him ?" asked the Colonel, as, 
followed by every darky on the plantation, we took our 
way to the old building. 

u In de swamp, massa. We got Sandy and de dogs 
arter him — dey treed him, but he fit like de debble." 

" Any one hurt ?" 

" Yas, Cunnel ; heforifed Yaller Jake, and ef I hadn't 
a gibin him a wiper, you'd a had anudder nigger short 
dis mornin' — shore." 

u How was it ? tell me," said his master, while we 
paused, and the darkies gathered around. 

" Wal, yer see, massa, we got de ole debble's hat dat . 
he drapped wen you had him down ; den we went to 
Sandy's fur de dogs — dey scented him to oust, and off 
dey put for de swamp. 'Bout twenty on us follored 
'em. He'd a right smart start on us, and run like a 
deer, but de hounds kotohed up wid him 'bout whar he 
shot pore Sam. . He fit 'em and cut up de Lady awful, 
but ole Ca3sar got a hole ob him, and sliced a breakfuss 
out ob his legs. Somehow, dough, he got 'way from 
de ole dog, and clum a tree. 'Twar more'n an hour 
afore we kotched up ; but dar he war, and de houns bay- 
ing 'way as ef dey know'd what an ole debble he am. 
I'd tuk one ob de guns — you warn't in de house, massa, 
so I cudn't ax you." 

u Never mind that ; go on," said the Colonel. 


" Wal, I up wid de gun, and tole him ef he didn't cum 
down I'd gib him suffin' dat 'ud sot hard on de stummuk. 
It tuk him a long w'ile, but — he cam down" Here the 
darky showed a row of ivory that would have been a 
fair capital for a metropolitan dentist. 

" When he war down," he resumed, 44 Jake war gwine 
to tie him, but de ole 'gator, quicker dan a flash, put a 
knife enter him." 

"Is Jake much hurt?" interrupted the Colonel. 

"Not bad, massa; de knife went fru his arm, and 
enter his ribs, but de ma'am hab fix him, and she say 
he'll be 'round bery sudden." 

"Well, what then?" inquired the Colonel. 

44 Wen de ole debble seed he hadn't finished Jake, he 
war gwine to gib him anudder dig, but jus den I drap de 
gun on his cocoanut, and he neber trubble us no more. 
'Twar mons'rous hard work to git him out ob de swamp, 
'cause he war jess like a dead man, and had to be toted 
de hull way; but he'm dar now, massa (pointing to the 
old cabin), and de bracelets am on him." 

44 Where is Jake ?" asked the Colonel. 

"Dunno, massa, but reckon he'm to hum." 

44 One of you boys go and bring him to the cabin, 5 ' 
paid the Colonel. 

A negro man went off on the errand, while we and 
the darkies resumed our way to the overseer's quarters. 
Arrived there, I witnessed a scene that words cannot 

Stretched at full length on the floor, his clothes torn 



to shreds, his coarse carroty hair matted with blood, and 
his thin, ugly visage pale as death, lay the overseer. 
Bending over hirn, wiping away the blood from his face, 
and swathing a ghastly wound on his forehead, was the 
negress Sue ; Avhile at his shackled feet, binding up his 
still bleeding legs, knelt the octoroon woman ! 

" Is she here ?" I said, involuntarily, as I caught sight 
of the group. 

"It's her nature," said the Colonel, with a pleasant 
smile ; "if Moye were the devil himself, she'd do him 
good if she could ; another such woman never lived." 

And yet this woman, with all the instincts that make 
her sex angel-ministers to man, lived in daily violation 
of the most sacred of all laws — because she was a slave. 
Can Mr. Caleb Cushing or Charles O'Conor tell us why 
the Almighty invented a system which forces his crea- 
tures to break laws of His own making ? 

"Don't waste your time on him, Alice," said the 
Colonel, kindly; "he isn't worth the rope that'll hang 

" He was bleeding to death ; unless he has care he'll 
die," said the octoroon woman. 

" Then let him die, d him," replied the Colonel, 

advancing to where the overseer lay, and bending down 
to satisfy himself of his condition. 

Meanwhile more than two hundred dusky forms 
crowded around and filled every opening of the old 
building. Every conceivable emotion, except pity, was 
depicted on their dark faces. The same individuals 



whose cloudy visages a half hour before I had seen dis- 
tended with a wild mirth and careless jollity, that made 
me think them really the docile, good-natured animals 
they are said to be, now glared on the prostrate overseer 
with the infuriated rage of aroused beasts when spring- 
ing on their prey. 

"You can't come the possum here. Get up, you 

hound," said the Colonel, rising and striking the bleed- 
ing man with his foot. 

The fellow raised himself on one elbow and gazed 
around with a stupid, vacant look. His eye wandered 
unsteadily for a moment from the Colonel to the throng 
of cloudy faces in the doorway; then, his recent expe- 
rience flashing upon him, he shrieked out, clinging wildly 
to the skirts of the octoroon woman, who was standing 
near, u Keep off them cursed hounds — keep them off, I 
say— they'll kill me ! they'll kill me !" 

One glance satisfied me that his mind was wandering. 
The blow on the head had shattered his reason, and 
made the strong man less than a child. 

" You wont be killed yet," said the Colonel. "You've 
a small account to settle with me before you reckon with 
the devil." 

At this moment the dark crowd in the doorway parted, 
and Jake entered, his arm bound up and in a sling. 

" Jake, come here," said the Colonel; "this man would 
have killed you. "What shall we do with him?" 

"'Taint for a darky to say dat, massa," said the negro, 
evidently unaccustomed to the rude administration of 


justice which the Colonel was about to inaugurate; u ho 
did wuss dan dat to Sam, massa — he orter swing for 
shootin' him." 

"That's ray affair; we'll settle your account first," re- 
plied the Colonel. 

The darky looked undecidedly at his master, and then 
at the overseer, who, overcome by weakness, had sunk 
again to the floor. The little humanity in him was evi- 
dently struggling with his hatred of Moye and his desire 
for revenge, when the old nurse yelled out from among 
the crowd, "Gib him fifty lashes, Massa Davy, and den 
you wash him down.* Be a man, Jake, and say dat." 

Jake still hesitated, and when at last he was about to 
speak, the eye of the octoroon caught his, and chained 
the words to his tongue, as if by magnetic power. 

"Do you say that, boys;" said the Colonel, turning to 
the other negroes; "shall he have fifty lashes?" 

" Tas, massa, fifty lashes — gib de ole debble fifty 
lashes," shouted about fifty voices. 

"He shall have them," quietly said the master. 

The mad shout that followed, which was more like 
the yell of demons than the cry of men, seemed to 
arouse Moye to a sense of his real position. Springing 
to his feet, he gazed wildly around; then, sinking on his 
knees before the octoroon, and clutching the folds of her 
dress, he shrieked, " Save me, good lady, save me ! as 
you hope for mercy, save me !" 

* Referring to the common practice of bathing the raw and bleeding backs of 
the punished slaves with a strong solution of salt and water. 


Not a muscle of her face moved, but, turning to the 
excited crowd, she mildly said, " Fifty lashes would kill 
him. . Jake does not say that — your master leaves it 
to him, and he will not whip a dying man— w^ill you, 

" No, ma'am— not— not ef you gwo agin it," replied 
the negro, with very evident reluctance. 

" But he whipped Sam, ma'am, when Sam war nearer 
dead than he am," said Jim, whose station as house- 
servant allowed him a certain freedom of speech. 

" Because he was brutal to Sam, should you be brutal 
to him ? Can you expect me to tend you when you 
are sick, if you beat a dying man ? Does Pompey say 
you should do such things ?" 

"No, good ma'am," said* the old preacher, stepping 
out, with the freedom of an old servant, from the black 
mass, and taking his stand beside me in the open space 
left for the " w'ite folks ;" " de oie man dusn't say dat, 
ma'am ; he tell 'em dat de Lord want 'em to forgib dar 
en'mies — to lub dem dat pursy skute 'em;" and, turning 
to the Colonel, he added, as he passed his hand meekly 
over his thin crop of white wool and threw his long 
heel back, " ef massa'll 'low me I'll talk to 'em." 

" Fire away," said the Colonel, with evident chagrin. 

" This is a nigger trial ; if you want to screen the d 

hound you can do it." 

"I dusn't want to screed him, massa, but I'se bery 
ole and got soon to gwo, and I dusn't want de blessed 
Lord to ax me wen I gets dar why I 'lowed dese pore 



ig'nant brack folks to mudder a man 'fore my bery face. 
I toted yon, massa, 'fore yon end gwo, I'se worked for 
you till I can't work no more ; and I dnsn't want to tell 
de Lord dat my massa let a brndder man be killed in 
cole blood." 

" He is no brother of mine, yon old fool ; preach to 
the nigs, don't preach to me," said the Colonel, stifling 
his displeasure, and striding off through the black crowd, 
without saying another word. 

Here and there in the dark mass a face showed signs 
of relenting ; but much the larger number of that strange 
jury, had the question been put, would have voted — 


The old preacher turned to them as the Colonel passed 
out, and said, "My chfl'ren, would you hab dis man 
whipped, so weak, so dyin' as he am, ef he war brack?" 

" No, not ef he war a darky — fer den he wouldn't be 
such an ole debble," replied Jim, and about a dozen of 
the other negroes. 

" De w'ite aint no wuss dan de brack — we'm all 'like 
—pore sinners all on us. De Lord wudn't whip a 
w'ite man no sooner dan a brack one — He tinks de w'ite 
juss so good as de brack (good Southern doctrine, I 
thought). De porest w'ite trash wudn't strike a man 
wen he war down." 

" We'se had 'nough of dis, ole man," said a large, 
powerful negro (one of the drivers), stepping forward, 

and, regardless of tl^ presence of Madam P and 

myself, pressing close ta where the overseer lay, now 



totally unconscious of what was passing around him. 
" You needn't preach no more ; de Gunnel hab say 
we'm to whip ole Moye, and we'se gwine to do it, 
by ." 

I felt my fingers closing on the palm of my hand, and 
in a second more they might have cut the darky's pro- 
file, had not Madam F- cried out, " Stand back, you 

impudent' fellow : say another word, and I'll have you 
whipped on the spot." 

" De Gunnel am my massa, ma'am — he say ole Moye 
am to be whipped, and I'se gwine to do it — shore." 

I have seen a storm at sea — I have seen the tempest 
tear up great trees — I have seen the lightning strike in 
a dark night — but I never saw any thing half so grand, 
half so terrible, as the glance and tone of that woman as 
she cried out, " Jim, take this man — give him fifty lashes 
this instant." 

Quicker than thought, a dozen darkies were on him. 
His hands and feet were tied and he was under the 
whipping-rack in a second. Turning then to the other 
negroes, the brave woman said, "Some of you carry 
Moye to the house, and you, Jim, see to this man — 
if fifty lashes don't make him sorry, give him fifty 

This summary change of programme was silently ac- 
quiesced in by the assembled negroes, but many a cloudy 
face scowled* sulkily on the octoroon, as, leaning on my 
arm, she followed Junius and t]^ other negroes, who 
bore Mcye to the mansion.. It was plain that under 



those dark faces a fire was burning that a breath would 
have fanned into a flame. 

We entered the house by its rear door, and placed 
Moye in a small room on the ground floor. He was 
laid on a bed, and stimulants being given him, his 
senses and reason shortly returned. His eyes opened, 
and his real position seemed suddenly to flash upon 

him, for he turned to Madam P , and in a weak 

voice, half choked with emotion, faltered out: "May 
God in heaven bless ye, ma'am ; God will bless ye for 
bein' so good to a wicked man like me. I doesn't de-w 
sarve it, but ye woant leave me — ye woant leave me — 
they'll kill me ef ye do !" 

" Don't fear," said the Madam ; " you shall have a 
fair trial. No harm shall come to you here." 

" Thank ye, thank ye," gasped the overseer, raising 
himself on one arm, and clutching at the lady's hand, 
which he tried to lift to his lips. 

" Don't say any more now," said Madam P , 

quietly ; " you must rest and be quiet, or you wont get 

"Shan't I get well? Oh, I can't die— I can't die 
now /" 

The lady made a soothing reply, and giving him an 
opiate, and arranging the bedding so that he might rest 
more easily, she left the room with me. 

As we stepped into the hall, I saw through the front 
door, which was open, the horses harnessed in readiness 
for " meeting," and the Colonel pacing to and fro on 



the piazza, smoking a cigar. He perceived us, and 
halted in the doorway. 

" So you've brought that d bloodthirsty villain 

into my house !" he said to Madam P in a tone of 

strong displeasure. 

" How could I help it ? The negroes are mad, and 
would kill him anywhere else," replied the lady, with a 
certain self-confidence that showed she knew her power 
over the Colonel. 

" Why should you interfere between them and him ? 
Has he not insulted you enough to make you let him 
alone? Can you so easily forgive his taunting you 
with" — He did not finish the sentence, but what I 
had learned on the previous evening from the old nurse 
gave me a clue to its meaning. A red flame flushed the 
face and neck of the octoroon woman — her eyes literally 
flashed fire, and her very breath seemed to come with 
pain ; in a moment, however, this emotion passed away, 
t and she quietly said, " Let me settle that in my own 
way. He has served you well — you have nothing 
against him that the law will not punish." 

" By , you are the most unaccountable woman I 

ever knew," exclaimed the Colonel, striding up and 
down the piazza, the angry feeling passing from his 
face, and giving way to a mingled expression of wonder 
and admiration. The conversation was here interrupted 
by Jim, who just then made his appearance, hat in 

" Well, Jim. what is it ?" asked his master. 



" We'se gib'n Sam twenty lashes, ma'am, but he beg 
so hard, and say he so sorry, dat I tole him I'd ax you 
'fore we gabe him any "more." 

" Well, if he's sorry, that's enough ; but tell him he'll 
get fifty another time," said the lady. 

" What Sam is it ?" asked the Colonel. 

" Big Sam, the driver," said Jim. 

" Why was he whipped ?" 

" He told me you were his master, and insisted on 
whipping Moye," replied the lady. 

" Did he dare to do that ? Give him a hundred, Jim, 
not one less," roared the Colonel. 

" Yas, massa," said Jim, turning to go. 

The lady looked significantly at the negro and shook 
her head, but said nothing, and he left. 

" Come, Alice, it is nearly time for meeting, and I 
want to stop and see Sandy on the way." 

" I reckon I wont go," said Madam P . 

" You stay to take care of Moye, I suppose," said the 
Colonel, with a slight sneer. 

" Yes," replied the lady, "he is badly hurt, and in 
danger of inflammation." 

" Well, suit yourself. Mr. K , , come, we'll go — 

you'll meet some of the natives" 

The lady retired to the house, and the Colonel and I 
were soon ready. The driver brought the horses to the 
door, and as we were about to enter the carriage, I 
noticed Jim taking his accustomed seat on the box. 

" Who's looking after Sam ?" asked the Colonel. 

6 i 



" Nobody, Cunnel ; de ma'am leff him gwo." 

M How dare you disobey me ? Didn't. I tell you to 
give him a hundred ?'' * 

" Yas, massa, but de ma'am tole me notter." 

" Well, another time you mind what I say — do you 
hear ?" said his master. 

" Yas, massa," said the negro, with a broad grin, " I 
allers do dat." 

"You never do it, you d — : — nigger; L ought to 
have flogged you long ago." 

Jim said nothing, but gave a quiet laugh, showing no 
sort of fear, and we entered the carriage. I afterward 
learned from him that he had never been whipped, and 
that all the negroes on the plantation obeyed the lady 
when, which was seldom, her orders came in conflict 
with their master's. They knew if they did not, the 
Colonel would whip them. 

As we rode slowly along the Colonel said to me, 
" Well, you see that the best people have to flog niggers 

"/Yes, I should have given that fellow a hundred 
lashes, at least. I think the effect on the others would 

have been bad if Madam P had not had him flog- 


" But she generally goes against it. I don't remem- 
ber of her having it done in ten years before. And yet, 
though I've the worst gang of niggers in the district, 
they obey her like* so many children." 

" Why is that ?" 



" Well, there's a kind of magnetism about her that 
makes everybody love her ; and then she tends them in 
sickness, and is constantly doing little things for their 
comfort ; that attaches them to her. She is an extraor- 
dinary woman." 

"Whose negroes are those, Colonelf" I asked, as, 
after a while, we passed a gang of about a dozen, at 
work near the roadside. Some were tending a tar-kiln, 
and some engaged in cutting into fire- wood the pines 
which a recent tornado had thrown to the ground. 

" They are mine, but, they are working now for them- 
selves. I let such as will, work on Sunday. I furnish 
the " raw material," and pay them for what they do, as 
I would a white man." 

" Wouldn't it be better to make them go to hear 
the old preacher ; couldn't they learn something from 
him ?■" 

" Not much ; Old Pomp never read any thing but 
the Bible, and he doesn't understand that ; besides, they 
can't be taught. You can't make c a whistle out of a 
pig's tail ;' you can't make a nigger into a white man." 

Just here the carriage stopped suddenly, and we 
looked out to see the cause. The road by which we 
had come was a mere opening through the pines ; no 
fences separated it from the wooded land, and being 
seldom travelled, the track was scarcely visible. In 
many places it widened to a hundred feet, but in others 
tall trees had grown up on its opposite sides, leaving 
scarcely width enough for a single carriage to pass. 



along. In one of these narrow passages, just before us, 
a queer-looking vehicle had upset, and scattered its con- 
tents in the road. We had no alternative but to wait 
till it got out of the way ; and we all "alighted to recon- 

The vehicle was a little larger than an ordinary hand- 
cart, and was mounted on wheels that had probably 
served their time on a Boston dray before commencing 
their travels in Secessiondom. Its box of pine board- 
ing and its shafts of rough oak poles were evidently of 
Southern borne manufacture. Attached to it by a rope 
harness, with- a primitive bridle of decidedly original 
construction, was — not a horse, nor a mule, nor even 
an alligator, but a " three-year-old heifer." 

The wooden linch-pin of the cart had given way, and 
the weight of a half-dozen barrels of turpentine had 
thrown the box off its balance, and rolled the contents 
about in all directions. 

The appearance of the proprietor of this nondescript 
vehicle was in keeping with his establishment. His 
coat, which was much too short in the waist and much 
too long in the skirts; was of the common reddish gray 
linsey, and his nether garments, which stopped just be- 
low the knees, were of the same material. From there 
downwards, he wore only the covering that is said to 
have been the fashion in Paradise before Adam took to 
fig-leaves. His hat had a rim broader than a political 
platform, and his skin a color half way between tobacco- 
juice and a tallow candle. 



" Wal, Cunnul, how dy'ge ?" said the stranger, as we 
stepped from the carriage. 

" Very well, Xed ; how are you ?" 

"Purty wal, Cunnul; had the nagur lately, right 
smart, but'm gittin' 'roun'." 

" You're in a bad fix here, I see. Can Jim help you ?" 

" Wal, p'raps he moight. Jim, how dy'ge ?" 

"Sort smart, ole feller. But come, stir yersefT; 
we want ter gwo 'long," replied Jim, with a lack 
of courtesy that showed he regarded the white man 
as altogether too "trashy" to be treated with much 

"With the aid of Jim, a new linch-pin was soon whit- 
tled out, the turpentine rolled on to the cart, and the 
vehicle put in a moving condition. 

" Where are you hauling your turpentine ?" asked 
the Colonel. 

" To Sam Bell's, at the 'Boro'." ■ 

" What will he pay you ?" 

" Wal, I've four barr'ls of ' dip,' and tu of 4 hard.' 
For the hull, I reckon he'll give three dollar a barr'l." 
" By tale ?" 

" Xo, for tu hun'red and eighty pound." 
" Well, TU give you two dollars and a half, by 

" Can't take it, Cunnel ; must get three dollar." 

" What, will you go sixty miles with this team, and 
waste five or six days, for fifty cents on six barrels — 
three dollars !" 



" Can't 'ford the time, Cunnel, but must git three dol* 
lar a barr'l." 

"That fellow is a specimen of our 'natives,'" said 
the Colonel, as we resumed our seats in the carriage. 
" You'll see more of them before we get back to the 

" He puts a young cow to a decidedly original use," 
I remarked. 

" Oh no, not original here ; the ox and the cow with 
us are both used for labor." 

"You don't mean to say that cows are generally 
worked here ?" 

" Of course I do. Our breeds are good for nothing 
as milkers, and we put them to the next best use. I 
never have cow's milk on my plantation." 

" You don't ! I could have sworn it was in my coffee 
this morning." 

" 1 wouldn't trust you to buy brandy for me, if your 
organs of taste are not keener than that. It was goat's 

" Then how do you get your butter ?" 

"From the North. I've had mine from my New 
York factors for over ten years." 

We soon arrived at Sandy, the negro-hunter's, and 
halted to allow the Colonel to inquire as to the health 
of his family of children and dogs — the latter the less 
numerous, but, if I might judge by appearances, the 
more valued of the two. 





Alighting from the carnage, I entered, with my 
host, the cabin of the negro-hunter. So far as external 
appearance went, the shanty was a slight improvement 
on the " Mills House," described in a previous chapter ; 
but internally, it was hard to say whether it resembled 
more a pig-sty or a dog-kennel. The floor was of the 
bare earth, covered in patches with loose plank of vari- 
ous descriptions, and littered over with billets of "light- 
wood," unwashed cooking utensils, two or three cheap 
stools, a pine settee — made from the rough log and hewn 
smooth on the upper side — a full-grown bloodhound, 
two younger canines, and nine half-clad juveniles of the- 
flax-head species. Over against the fire-place three low 
beds afforded sleeping accommodation to nearly a dozen 
human beings (of assorted sizes, and dove-tailed together 
with heads and feet alternating), and in the opposite cor- 
ner a lower couch, whose finer furnishings told plainly 
it was the peculiar property of the "wee ones" of the 
family — a mother's tenderness for her youngest thus 
cropping out even in the midst of filth and degrada- 
tion — furnished quarters for an unwashed, uncombed, 
unclothed, saffron-hued little fellow about fifteen months 
old, and— the dog "Lady." She was of a dark hazel 


color — a cross between a pointer and a bloodhound — and 
one of the most beautiful creatures I ever saw. Her 
neck and breast were bound about with a coarse cotton 
cloth, saturated with blood, and emitting a strong odor 
of bad whiskey; and her whole appearance showed 
the desperate nature of the encounter with the over- 

The nine young democrats who were lolling about the 
room in various attitudes, rose as we entered, and with 
a familiar but rather deferential " Ho w-dy'ge," to the 
Colonel, huddled around and stared at me with open 
mouths and distended eyes, as if I w^ere some strange be- 
ing, dropped from another sphere. The two eldest were 
of the male gender, as was shown by their clothes — cast- 
off suits of the inevitable reddish-gray, much too large, 
and out at the elbows and the knees — but the sex of the 
others I was at a loss to determine, for they wore only 
a single robe, reaching, like their mother's, from the neck 
to the knees. Not one of the occupants of the cabin 
boasted a pair of stockings, but the father and mother 
did enjoy the luxury of shoes — coarse, stout * brogans, 
untanned, and of the color of the legs which they en- 

u Well, Sandy, how is 'Lady?'" asked the Colonel, as 
he stepped to the bed of the wounded dog. 

" Reckon she's a goner, Cunnel ; t*he d Yankee 

orter swing fur it." 

- This intimation that the overseer was a country- 
man of mine, took me by surprise, nothing I bad ob* 



served in h\s speech or manners having indicated it, but 
I consoled myself with the reflection that Connecticut 
had reared him— as she makes wooden hams and nut- 
megs — expressly for the Southern market. 

" He shall swing for it, by . But are you sure 

the skit will die ?" 

"Not shore, Cunnel, but she can't stand, and the 
blood will run. I reckon a hun'red and fifty ar done for 
th#r, sartin." 

" D the money — I'll make that right. . Go to the 

house and get some ointment from Madam — she can save 
her — go at once," said my host. 

"I will, Cunnel," replied the dirt-eater, taking his 
broad-brim from a wooden peg, and leisurely leaving the 
cabin. Making our way then over the piles of rubbish 
and crowds of children that cumbered the apartment, 
the Colonel and I returned to the carriage. 

" Dogs must be rare in this region," I remarked, as 
we resumed our seats. 

"Yes, well-trained bloodhounds are scarce every- 
where. That dog is well worth a hundred and fifty 
dollars." " 

" The business of nigger-catching, then, is brisk, just 
now ?" 

"No, not more brisk than usual. We always have 
more or less runaways." 

" Do mcrst of them take to the swamps ?" 

" Yes, nine out of ten do, though now and then one 
gets off on a trading vessel. It is almost impossible for 

172 amoi&3l_the pines. 

a strange nigger to make his way by land from here to 
the free states. 1 ' 

• " Then why do you Carolinians make such an outcry 
about the violation of the Fugitive Slave Law ?" 

"For the same reason that dogs quarrel over a naked 
bone. We should be unhappy if we couldn't growl at 
the Yankees," replied the Colonel, laughing. 

"TFe, you say; you mean by that, the hundred and 
eighty thousand nabobs who own five-sixths of y?ur 
slaves ?"* 

" Yes, I mean them, and the three millions of poor 
whites — the ignorant, half-starved, lazy vermin you have 
just seen. They are the real basis of our Southern oli- 

* The foregoing statistics are correct. That small number of slave-holders sus- 
tains the system of slavery, and has caused this terrible rebellion. They are, 
almost to a man, rebels and secessionists,, and we may cover the South with 
armies, and keep a hie of soldiers upon every plantation, and not smother this 
insurrection, unless we break down the power of that class. Their wealth gives 
them their power, and their wealth is in their slaves. Free their negroes by an 
act of emancipation, or confiscation, and the rebellion will crumble to pieces in a 
day. Omit to do it, and it will last till doomsday. 1 

The power of this dominant class once broken, with landed property at the 
" South more -equally divided, a new order of things will arise there. Where now, 
with their large plantations, not one acre in ten is tilled, a system of small farms 
will spring into existence, and the whole country be covered with cultivation. 
The six hundred thousand men who have gone there to fight our battles, will see 
the amazing fertility of the Southern soil — into which the seed is thrown and 
springs up without labor into a bountiful harvest — and many of them, if slavery 
is crushed out, will remain there. Thus a new element will be introduced into 
the South, an 'element that will speedily make it a loyal, prosperous, and intelli- 
gent section of the Union. 

I wou.d interfere with no one's rights, but a rebel in arms against his country 
has no rights ; all that he has " is confiscate." Will the loyal people of the North 
submit to be ground to the earth with taxes to pay the expenditures of a war, 
"brought upon them by these Southern oligarchists, while the traitors are left in 
undisturbed possession of every thing, and even their slaves are exempted from 
taxation? It were well that our legislators should ask this question now. and 
uot wait till it is a^ked of them by tuu rnoi'LU 



garchy, as you call it," continued my host, still laugh- 

" I thought the negroes were the serfs in your feudal 
system ?" 

" Both the negroes and the' poor whites are the serfs, 
but the white trash are its real support. Their votes 
give the small minority of slave-owners all their power. 
You say we control the Union. We do, and we do it 
by the votes of these people, who are as far below our 
niggers as the niggers are below decent white men. 
Who that reflects that this - country has been governed 
for fifty years by such scum, would give a d — : — for re- 
publican institutions ?" 

" It does speak badly for your institutions. A system 
that reduces nearly half of a white population to the 
level of slaves cannot stand in this country. The late 
election shows that the power of your 'white trash' is 

> c Well, it does, that's a fact. If the states should re- 
main together, the West would in - future control the 
Union. We see that, and are therefore determined on 
dissolution. It is our only way to keep our niggers." 

"The West will have to consent to that project. My 
opinion is, your present policy will, if carried out, free 
every one of your slaves." 

"I ddnt see how. Even if we are put down— which 
we cannot be — and are held in the Union against our 
will, government cannot, by the constitution, interfere 
with slavery in the states." • ' 


" I admit that, but it can confiscate the property of 
traitors. Every large slave-holder is to-day, at heart, a 
traitor. If this movement goes on, you will commit 
overt acts against the government, and in self-defence it 
will punish treason by taking from you the means of 
future mischief." 

" The Republicans and Abolitionists might do that if 
they had the power,, but nearly one-half of the North is 
on our side, and will not fight us." 

" Perhaps so ; but if I had this thing to manage, I 
would put you down without fighting." 

" How would you do it — by preaching abolition where 
even the niggers would mob you ? There's not a slave 
in all South Carolina but would shoot Garrison or Gree- 
ley on sight." 

" That may be, but if so, it is because you keep them 
in ignorance. Build a free-school at every cross-road, 
and teach the poor whites, and what would become of 
slavery ? If these people were on a par with the farmers 
of New England, would it -last for an hour? Would 
they not see that it stands in the way of their advance- 
ment, and vote it out of existence as a nuisance ?" 

"Yes, perhaps they would; but the school-houses are 
not at the cross-roads, and, thank God, they will not be 
there in this generation." 

"The greater the pity ; but that which will not flourish 
alongside of a school-house, cannot, in the nature of 
things, outlast this century. Its time must soon come." 
" Enough for the day is the evil thereof. I'll risk the 



future of slavery, if the South, in a body, goes out of the 

" In other words, you'll shut out schools and knowl- 
edge, in order to keep slavery in existence. The Abo- 
litionists claim it to be a relic of barbarism, and you ad- 
mit it could not exist with general education among tho 

" Of course it could not. If Sandy, for instance, knew 
he were as good a man as I am — and he would be if he 
were educated — do you suppose he would vote as I tell 
him, go and come at my bidding, and live on my charity ? 
No, sir ! give a man knowledge, and, however poor he 
may be, he'll act for himself." 

" Then free-schools and general education would de- 
stroy slavery?" 

" Of course they would. The few cannot rule when 
the many know their rights. If the poor whites realized - 
that slavery kept them poor, would they not vote it 
down ? But the South and the world are a long way 
off from general education. When it comes to that, we 
shall need no laws, and no slavery, for the millennium 
will have arrived." 

" I'm glad you think slavery will not exist during the 
millennium," I replied, good-humoredly ; " but how is it 
that you insist the negro is naturally inferior to the 
white, and still admit that the 'white trash,' are far be- 
low the black slaves ?" 

"Education makes the difference. We educate the 
negro enough to make him useful to us ; but the poor 



white man knows nothing:. He can neither read noi 
write, and not only that, he is not trained to any useful 
employment. Sandy, here, who is a fair specimen of th<? 
tribe, obtains his living just like an Indian, by hunting, 
fishing, and stealing, interspersed with nigger-catching 
His whole wealth consists of two hounds and pups ; hia 
house — even the wooden trough his miserable children 
eat from — belongs to me. If he didn't catch a runaway- 
nigger once in a while, he wouldn't see a dime from one 
year to another." 

"Then you have to support this man and his family?" 

" Yes, what I don't give him he steals. Half $ dozen . 
others poach on me in the same way." 

" Why don't you set them at work ?" 

" They can't be made to work. I have hired them 
time and again, hoping to make something of them, 
but I never got one to work more than half a day at a 
time. It's their nature to lounge and to steal." 

" Then why do you keep them about you ?" 

" Well, to be candid, their presence is of use in keep- 
ing the blacks in subordination, and they are worth all 
they cost me, because I control their votes." 

" I thought the blacks were said to be entirely con- 

" No, not contented. I do not claim that. I only say 
that they are unfit for freedom. I might cite a hundred 
instances in which it has been their ruin." 

" I have not heard of one. It seems strange to me that 
a man who can support another cannot support himself." 



" Oh ! no, it's not at all strange. The slave has hands, 
and when the master gives him brains, he works well 
enough ; but to support himself he needs both hands 
and brains, and he has only hands. I'll give you a case 
in point : At Wilmington, N. C, some years ago, there 
lived a negro by the name of Jack Campbell. He was 
a slave, and was employed, before the river was deepen- 
ed so as to admit of the passage of large vessels up to 
the town, in lightering cargoes to the wharves. He 
hired his time of his master, and carried on business on 
his own account. Every one knew him, and his charac- 
ter for honesty, sobriety, and punctuality stood so high 
that his word was considered among merchants as good 
as that of the first business-men of the place. Well, 
•Tack's wife and children were free, aud he finally took 
it into his head to be free himself. He' arranged with 
his master to purchase himself within a specified time,, at 
eight hundred dollars, and he was to deposit his earn- 
ings in the hands of a certain merchant till they reached 
the required sum. He went on, and in three years had 
accumulated nearly seven hundred dollars, when his 
owner failed in business. As the slave has no right of 
property, Jack's earnings belonged by law to his master, 
and they were attached by the Northern creditors (mark 
that, by Northern creditors), and taken to pay the mas- 
ter's debts. Jack, too, was sold. His new owner also 
consented to his buying himself, at about the price pre- 
viously agreed on. Nothing discouraged, he went to 
' work again. Night and day he toiled, and it surprised 



every one to see so much energy and firmness of purpose 
iu a negro. At last, after four more years of labor, ho 
accomplished his purpose, and received his free-papers. 
He had worked seven years — as long as J acob toiled for ' 
Rachel — for his freedom, and like the old patriarch he 
found himself cheated at last. I was present when he 
received his. papers from his owner — a Mr. William II. 
Lippitt, who still resides at Wilmington — and I shall 
never forget the ecstasy of joy which he showed on the 
occasion. He sung and danced, and laughed, and wept, 
till my conscience smote me for holding my own niggers, 
when freedom might give them so much happiness. 
Well, he went off that day and treated some friends, acid 
for three days afterward lay in the gutter, the entreaties 
of his wife and children having no effect on him. He 

swore he was Jree, and would do as he c d pleased.' 

Ha had previously been a class-leader in the church, but 
after getting his freedom he forsook his previous asso- 
ciates, and spent his Sundays and evenings in a bar-room. 
He neglected his business ; people lost confidence in him, 
and step by step he went down, till in five years he sunk 
into a wretched grave. That was the effect of freedom 
on him, and it w^ould be the same on all of his race." 

"It is clear," I replied, "he could not bear freedom, 
but that does not prove he might not have 'endured' it. 
if he had never been a slave. His overjoy at obtaining 
liberty, after so long a struggle for it, led to his excesses 
and his ruin. According to your view, neither the black 
nor the poor white is competent to take care of himself. 



The Almighty, therefore, has laid upon you a triple bur- 
den ; you not only have to provide for yourself and your 
children, but for two races beneath you, the black and 
the clay-eater. The poor nigger has a hard time, but it 
seems to me you have a harder one." 

"Well, it's a fact, Ave do. I often think that if it wasn't 
for the color and the odor, I'd willingly exchange places 
with my man Jim." 

The Colonel made this last remark in a half-serious, 
half-comic way, that excited my risibilities, but before 
I could reply, the carriage stopped, and Jim, opening the 
door, announced : 

" We's har, massa, and de prayin' am gwine on." 





Had we not been absorbed in conversation, we might 
have discovered, some time previous to our arrival at the 
church door, that the services had commenced, for tho 
preacher w^as shouting at the top of his lungs. He evi- 
dently thought the Lord either a long way off, or very 
hard of hearing. Not wishing to disturb the congrega- 
tion while at their devotions, we loitered near the door- 
way until the prayer was over, and in the mean time I 
glanced around the vicinity. 

The "meeting-house," of large unhewn logs, was a 
story and a half in height, and about large enough to 
seat comfortably a congregation of two hundred persons. 
It was covered with shingles, with a roof projecting 
some four feet over the walls, and was surmounted at 
the front gable by a tower, about twelve feet square. 
This also was built of logs, and contained a bell "to call 
the ertjng to the house of prayer," though, unfortunately, 
all of that character thereabouts dwelt beyond the sound 
of its voice. The building was located at a cross-roads, 
about equally distant from two little hamlets (the near- 
er nine miles off), neither of which was populous enough 
to singly support a church and a preacher. The trees in 



the vicinity had been thinned out, so that carriages could 
drive into the woods, and find under the branches shelter 
from the rain and the sun ; and at the time of my visit, 
about twenty vehicles of all sorts and descriptions, from 
the Colonel's magnificent barouche to the rude cart 
drawn by a single two-horned qrtadruped, filled the 
openings. There was a rustic simplicity about the 
whole scene that charmed me. The low, rude church, 
the grand old pines that towered in leafy magnificence 
around it, and the soft, low wind, that sung a morning 
hymn in the green, wavy woods, seemed to lift , the soul 
up to Him who inhabit eth eternity, but who deigns to. 
visit the erring children of men. 

The preacher was about to "line out" one of Watts' 
psalms when we entered the church, but he stopped 
short on perceiving us, and, bowing low, waited till we 
had taken our seats. This action, and the sycophantic 
air which accompanied it, disgusted me, and turning to 
the Colonel, I asked, jocosely: 

"Do the chivalry exact so much obsequiousness from 
the country clergy ? Do you require to be bowed up to 
heaven ?" 

In a low voice, but high enough, I thought, for the 
preacher to hear, for we sat very near, the Colonel re- 

"He's a renegade Yankee — the meanest thing on 

I said no more, but entered into the services as seri- 
ously as the strange gymnastic performances of the 



preacher would allow of my doing ; for lie was quite as 
amusing as a circus clown. 

With the exception of the Colonel's, and a few other 
pews in the vicinity of the pulpit, all of the seats were 
mere rough benches, without backs, and placed so 
closely together as to interfere uncomfortably with the 
knees of the sitters. The house was full, and the con- 
gregation as attentive as any I ever saw. All classes 
were there ; the black serving-man away off by the door 
way, the poor white a little higher un, the small turpen- 
tine-farmer a little higher still, and the wealthy planter, 
of the class to which the Colonel belonged, on "the 
highest seats of the synagogue," and in close proximity 
to the preacher. 

The " man of prayer" was a tall, lean, raw-boned, an- 
gular-built individual, with a - thin, sharp, hatchet-face, a 
small sunken eye, and long, loose hair, brushed back and 
falling over the collar of a seedy black coat. He looked 
like a dilapidated scare-crow, and his pale, sallow face, 
and cracked, wmeezy voice, were in odd and comic 
keeping with his discourse. His text was : " Speak 
unto the children of Israel, that they go forward." And 
addressing the motley gathering of poor whites and 
small planters before him as the "chosen people of 
God," he urged them to press on in the mad course 
their state had taken. It was a political harangue, a 
genuine stump-speech, but its frequent allusions to the 
auditory as the legitimate children of the old patriarch, 
and the rightful heirs of all the promises, struck me as 



out of place in a rural district of South Carolina, how- 
ever appropriate it might have been in one of the large 
towns, before an audience of merchants and traders, 
who are, almost to a man, Jews. 

The services over, the congregation slowly left the 
church. Gathered in groups in front of the "meeting- 
house," they were engaged in a general discussion of 
the affairs of the day, when the Colonel and I emerged 
from the doorway. The better class greeted my host 
with considerable cordiality, but I noticed that the well- 
to-do small planters, who composed the greater part of 
the assemblage, received him with decided coolness. 
These people were the "North County folks," on whom 
the overseer had invoked a hanging. Except that their 
clothing was more uncouth and ill-fashioned, and their 
faces generally less "cute" of expression, they did not 
materially differ in appearance from the rustic citizens 
who may -be seen on any pleasant Sunday gathered 
around the doorways of the rural meeting-houses of 
New England. -v 

One of them, who was leaning against a tree, quietly 
lighting a pipe, was a fair type of the whole, and as he 
took a part in the scene which followed, I will describe 
him. He was tall and spare, with a swinging, awkward 
gait, and a wiry, athletic frame. His hair, which he 
wore almost as long as a woman's, was coarse and black, 
and his face strongly marked, and of the precise color 
of two small rivulets of tobacco-juice that escaped from 
the corners of his mouth. He had an easy, self-pos- 



sessed manner, and a careless, devil-may-care way about 
him, that showed he had measured his powers, and was 
accustomed to " rough it" with the world. He wore a 
broadcloth coat of the fashion of some years ago, but 
his waistcoat and nether garments of the common, red- 
dish homespun, were loose and ill-shaped, as if their 
owner did not waste thought on such trifles. His hat, 
as shockingly bad as Horace Greeley's, had the inevi- 
table broad brim, and fell over his face like a calash 
awning over a shop-window. As I approached him 
he extended his hand with a pleasant "How are ye, 
stranger ?" 

« Very well," I replied, returning his grasp with 
equal warmth, " how are you ?" 

" Right smart, right smart, thank ye. You're — — " 
the rest of the sentence was cut short by a gleeful ex- 
clamation from. Jim, who, mounted on the box of the 
carriage, which was drawn up on the cleared plot in 
front of the meeting-house, waved an open newspaper 
over his head, and called out, as he caught sight of the 
Colonel : 

"Great news, massa — great news from Charls'on!" 

(The darky, while we were in church, had gone to the 
post-office, some four miles away, and got the Colonel's 
mail, which consisted of letters from his New York and 
Charleston factors, the Charleston Courier and Mercury 
and the New York Journal of Commerce, The latter 
sheet, at the date of which I am writing, was in wide 
circulation at the South, its piety (!) and its politics 



being then calculated with mathematical precision for 
secession latitudes.) 

" What is it, Jim ?" shouted his master. " Give it to 

The darky had somehow learned to read, but holding 
the paper at arm's length, and throwing himself into a 
theatrical attitude, he cried out, with any amount of 
gesticulation : 

u De news am, massa, and gemmen and ladies, dat de 
ole fort fore Charls'on hab ben devacuated by Major 
Andersm and de sogers, and dey hab stole 'way in de 
dark night and gone to Sumter, whar dey can't be took ; 
and dat de ole Gubner hab got out a procdemation 
dat all dat don't lub de Aberlishen Yankees shiil cum 
up dar and clar 'em out ; and de paper say dat lots ob 
sogers hab cum from Georgi and APbama, and 'way 
down Souf, to help 'em. Dis am w'at de Currer say," 
he continued, holding the paper up to his eyes and read- 
ing: 'Major Andersin, ob de United States army hab 
'chieved de 'stinction ob op'ning cibil war 'tween Ameri- 
can citizens ; he hab desarted Moulfrie, and by false fre- 
texts hab took dat ole Garrison and all his millinery 
stores to Fort Sumter." 

" Get down, you d d nigger," said the Colonel, 

laughing, and mounting the carriage-box beside him. 
" You can't read. Old Garrison isn't there— he's the 
d d Northern Abolitionist." 

" I knows dat, Cunnel, but see dar," replied Jim, hold- 
ing the paper out to his master, "don't dat say he'rn 



dar ? It'ni him dat make all de trubble. P'raps dis nig 
oah't read, but ef dat aint readin' I'd like to know it !" 

" Clear out," said the Golonel, no w actually roaring 
with laughter ; " it's the garrison of soldiers that the 
Courier speaks of, not the Abolitionist." 

"Read it you~sef, den, massa, I don't seed it dat 

Jim was altogether wiser than he appeared, but while 
equally as well pleased with the news as his master, he 
was so for an entirely different reason. In the crisis 
which these tidings announced, he saw hope for his 

The Colonel then read the paper to the assemblage. 
The news was received with a variety of manifestations 
by the auditory, the larger portion, I thought, hearing 
it, as I did, with sincere regret. 

" Xow is the time to stand by the state, my friends," 
said my host, as he finished the reading. " I hope every 
man here is ready to do his duty by old South Carolina." 

" Yes, sar I if she does har duty by the Union. We'll 
go to the death for har just so long as she's in the right, 

but not a d d step if she arn't," said the long-legged 

native I have introduced to the reader. 

" And what have you to say about South Carolina ? 
What does she owe to you?" asked the Colonel, turn- 
ing on the speaker with a proud and angry look. 

" More, a darned sight, than she'll pay, if ye cursed 
'ristocrats run her to h — as ye'r doin'. She owes me, 
and 'bout ten as likely niggers as ye ever seed, a living, 



and we've d d hard work to get it out on her now, 

let alone what's comin'." 

" Don't talk to me, you ill-mannered cur," said my 
-host, turning his buck on his neighbor, and directing his 
attention to the remainder of the assemblage. 

"Look har, Cunnel," replied the native, "if ye'll jesl 
come down from thar, and throw 'way yer shootin'- 
irons, I'll give ye the all-firedest thrashing ye ever, did 
1 get." 

The Colonel gave no further heed to him, but the 
speaker mounted the steps of the meeting-house and 
harangued the natives in a strain of rude and passion- 
ate declamation, in which my host, the aristocrats, and 
the secessionists came in for about equal shares of 
abuse. Seeing that the native (who, it appeared, was 
quite popular as a stump-speaker) was drawing away 
his audience, the Colonel descended from the driver's 
seat, and motioning for me to follow, entered the 'car- . 
riage. Turning the horses homeward, we rode off at a 
brisk pace. 

"Not much secession about that fellow, Colonel," I 
remarked, after a while. • 

"No," he replied, "he's a North Carolina c corn- 
cracker,' one of the ugliest specimens of humanity ex- 
tant. They're as thick as fleas in this part of the state, 
and about all of them are traitors." 

" Traitors to the state, but true to the Union. As far 
as I've seen, that is the case with the middling class 
v /hrouo;hout the South." 



"Well, it may be, but they generally go with us, 
and I reckon they will now, when it comes to the rub. 
Those in the towns — the traders and mechanics — will, 
certain; its only these half-way independent planters 
that ever kick the traces. By the way," continued my 
host, in a jocose way, "what did you think of the 
preaching ?' x 

" I thought it very poor. Fd rather have heard the 
stump-speech, had it not been a little too personal on 

"Well, it was the better of the two," he replied, 
laughing, " but the old devil can't afford any thing good, 
he don't get enough pay." 

" Why, how much does he get ?" 

" Only a hundred dollars." 

" That is small. How does the man live ?" 

" Weil, he teaches the daughter of my neighbor. 
.Captain Randall, who believes in praying, and gives him 
his board. Randall thinks that enough. The rest of 
the parish can't afford to pay him, and I wont" 

" Why wont you ?" 

" Because he's a d d old hypocrite. He believes 

in the Union with all his heart — at least so Randall, 
.who's a sincere Union man, says — and yet, he never sees 
me at meeting but he preaches a red-hot secession ser 

" He wants to keep you in the faith," I replied 
A few more miles of sandy road took us to the man 
eion, where we found dinner in waiting. Meeting 



"Massa Tommy" — who had staid at home with his 
mother — as we entered the doorway, the Colonel asked 
after the overseer. 

" He seems well enough, sir ; I believe he's coming 
the possum over mother." 

" I'll bet on it, Tommy ; but he wont fool you and 
me, will he, my boy ?" said his father, slapping him af- 
fectionately on the back. 

After dinner I went, with my host to the room o'f the 
wounded man. His head was still bound up, and he 
was groaning piteously, as if in great pain; but I 
thought there was too fresh a color in his face to be en- 
tirely natural in one who had lost so much blood, and 
been so severely wounded as he affected to have been. 

The Colonel mentioned our suspicions to Madam P , 

and suggested that the shackles should be put on him. 

" Oh ! no, don't do that ; it would be inhuman," said 
the lady ; " the color is the effect of fever. If you fear 
he is plotting to get away, let him be watched." 

The Colonel consented, but with evident reluctance, 
to the arrangement, and retired to his room to take a 
siesta, while I lit a segar, and strolled out to the negro 

Making my way through the woods to the scene of 
the morning's jollification, I found about a hundred 
darkies gathered around Jim, on the little plot in front 
of old Lucy's cabin. He had evidently been giving 
them the news'. Pausing when I came near, he ex- 
claimed : 



" Har's Massa K , he'll say dat I tells you de 

trufh ;" and turning to me, he said : " Massa K , 

dese darkies say da 4 Massa Andersin am an ab'lisherner, 
and dat none but de ab'lisherners will fight for de Union; 
am dat so, sar ?" 

" No, I reckon not, Jim ; I' think the whole North 
would fight for it if it were necessary." 

"Am dat so, massa? am dat so?" eagerly inquired a 
dozen of the darkies ; " and am dar great many folks at 
de Norf — more dan dar am down bar ?" 

"Tas, you fools, didn't I tell you dat?" said Jim, as 
I, not exactly relishing the idea of preaching treason, in 
the Colonel's absence, to his slaves, hesitated to reply. 
" Haint I tole you," he continued, " dat in de big city 
ob New York dar'm more folks dan in all Car'lina? 

I'se been dar, and I knows; and Massa K '11 tell 

you dat dey — most on 'em — feel mighty sorry for de 
brack man." 

"No he wont," I replied, "and besides, Jim, you 
should not talk in this way before me I might tell your 

" ]STo ! you wont do dat ; I knows you wont, massa. 
Scipio tole us he'd trust his bery life wid you? 

" Well, perhaps he might ; it's true I would not injure 
you ;" saying that, I turned away, though my curiosity 
was greatly excited to hear more. 

I wandered farther into the woods, and a half-hour 
found me near one of the turpentine distilleries. Seat- 
ing myself on a rosin barrel, I quietly finished my segar, 


and was about lighting another, when Jim made his ap- 

" Beg pardon, Massa K ," said the negro, bowing 

very low, " but I wants to ax you one or two tings, ef 
you please, sar." 

" Well," I replied, "I'll tell you any thing that I ought 

" Per yer tink, den, massa, dat dey'll git to fightin' at 
CharPson ?" 

" Yes, judging by the tone of the Charleston papers 
you've read to-day, I think they will." 

"And der yer tink dat de rest ob de Souf will jine wid 
Souf Car'lina, if she go at it fust ?" 

" Yes, Jim, I'm inclined to think so." 

" I hard you say to massa, dat ef dey goes to war, 'twill 
free all de niggers — der you raily b'lieve dat, sar ?" 

" You heard me say that ; how did you hear it ?" I 
exclaimed, in surprise. 

" Why, sar, de front winder ob de carriage war down 
jess a crack, so I hard all you said." 

" Did you let it down on purpose ?" 

" PVaps so, massa. Whot's de use ob habin' ears, ef 
you don't har ?" 

" Well, I suppose not much ; and you tell all you hear 
to the other negroes ?" 

" I reckon so, massa," said the darky, looking very 

"That's the use of having a tongue, eh?" I replied, 


K Dat's it 'zactly, massa." 

" Well, Jim, I do think the slaves will be finally freed; 
but it will cost more white blood to do it than all the 
niggers in creation are worth. Do you think the darkies 
would fight for their freedom?" 

" Fight, Bar !" exclaimed the negro, straightening up 
his fine form, while his usual good-natured look passed 
from his face, an$ gave way to an expression that made 
him seem more like an incarnate devil than- a human 
being ; " fight, sar ; gib dem de chance, and den see." 

"Why are you discontented ? You have been at the 
North, and you know the blacks are as well off as the 
majority of the poor laboring men there." 

" You says dat to me, Massa K ; you don't say it 

to de Gunnel. We am not so well off as de pore man 
at de Norf ! You knows dat, sar. He hab his wife and 
chil'ren, and his own home. What hab we, sar ? No 
wife, no chil'ren, no home ; all am de white man's. Der 
yer tink we wouldn't fight to be free?" and he pressed his 
teeth together, and there passed again over his face the 
same look it wore the moment before. 

"Come, come, Jim, this may be true of your -race; 
but it don't apply to yourself. Your master is kind and 
indulgent to you" 

" He am kine to me, sar ; he orter be," said the negro, 
the savage expression coming again into his eyes. For 
a moment he hesitated ; then, taking a step toward me, 
he placed his face down to mine, and hissed out these 
words, every syllable seeming to come from the very 



bottom of his being. " I tell you he orter be, sar, fur 


"Hu brother!" I exclaimed, springing to my feet, 
and looking at him in blank amazement. " It can't be 

" It am true, sar — as true as there's a hell ! His father 
had my mother — when he got tired of her, he sold her 
Souf. I war too young den eben to hioto her /" 

" This is horrible — too horrible !" I said. 

"It am slavery, sar! Shouldn't we be contented?" 
replied the negro with a grim smile. Drawing, then, a 
large spring-knife from his pocket, he waved it above 
his head, and added: "Ef I had de hull white race dar — 
right dar under dat knife, don't yer tink I'd take all dar 
lives — all at one blow — to be free !" 

"And yet you refused to run away when the Aboli- 
tionists tempted you, at the North. Why didn't you 
go then ?" 

" 'Cause I had promised, massa." 

" Promised the Colonel before you went ?" 

"No, sar; he neber axed me; but I can't tell you no 
more. P'raps Scipio will, ef ycu ax him." 

" Oh ! I see ; you're in that league of which Scip is a 
leader. You'll get into trouble, sure" I replied, in a 
quick, decided tone, which startled him. 

" Tou tole Scipio dat, sar, and what did he tell you?" 

" That he didn't care for his life." 

" No more do I, sar," said the negro, turning on his heel 
with a proud, almost defiant gesture, and starting to go 


" A moment, Jim. You are very imprudent ; never 
say these things to any other mortal ; promise me that." 

" You'se bery good, massa, bery good. Scipio say 
y oil's true, and he'm allers right. I ortent to hab said 
what I hab ; but sumhow, sar, dat news brought it all 
up har" (laying his hand on his breast), "and it wud 
come out." 

The tears filled his eyes as he said this, and turning 
away without another word, he disappeared among the 

I was almost stunned by this strange revelation, but 
the more I reflected on it, the more probable it appeared. 
Now ; too, that my thoughts were turned in that direc- 
tion, 1 called to mind a certain resemblance between the 
colonel and the negro that I had not heeded before. 
Though one was a high-bred Southern gentleman, claim- 
ing an old and proud descent, and the other a poor Af- 
rican slave, they had some striking peculiarities which 
might indicate a common origin. The likeness was not 
in their features, for Jim's face was of the unmistakable 
negro type, and his skin of a hue so dark that it seemed 
impossible he could be the son of a white man (I after- 
ward learned that his mother was a black of the deepest 
dye), but it was in their form and general bearing. 
They had the same closely-knit and sinewy frame, the 
same erect, elastic step, the same rare blending of good- 
natured ease and dignity — to which I have already al- 
luded as characteristic of the Colonel — and in the wild 
\>urst of passion that accompanied the negro's disclosure 



of their relationship, I saw the same fierce, unbridled 
temper, whose outbreaks I had witnessed in my host. 

What a strange fate was theirs ! Two brothers — the 
one the owner of three hundred slaves, and the first 
man of his district — the other, a bonded menial, and so 
poor that the very bread he ate, and the clothes he 
wore, were another's ! 

I passed the remainder of the afternoon in my room, 
and did not again meet my host until the family as- 
sembled at the tea-table. Jim then occupied his accus- 
tomed seat behind the Colonel's chair, and that gentle- 
man was in more than his usual spirits, though Madam 
P , I thought, wore a sad and absent look. 

The conversation rambled over a wide range of sub- 
jects, and was carried on mainly by the Colonel and 
myself; but toward the close of the meal the lady said 
to me: 

' 4 Mr. K , Sam and young Junius are to be buried 

this evening ; if you have never seen a negro funeral, 
perhaps you'd like to attend." 

" I will be happy to accompany you, Madam, if you 
go," I replied. 

" Thank you," said the lady. 

" Pshaw ! Alice, you'll not go into the woods on so 
cold a night as this !" said the Colonel. 

"Yes, I think I ought to. Our people will expect 




It was about an hour after nightfall when Ave took 
our way to the burial-ground. The moon had risen, 
but the clouds which gathered when the sun went 
down, covered its face, and were fast spreading their 
thick, black shadows over the little collection of negro- 
houses. Near two new-made graves were gathered 
some two hundred men and women, as dark as the 
night that was setting around them. As we entered 
the circle the old preacher pointed to seats reserved for 
us, and the sable crowd fell back a few paces, as if, even 
in the presence of death, they did not forget the differ- 
ence between their race and ours. 

Scattered here and there among the trees, torches of 
lightwood threw a wild and fitful light over the little 
cluster of graves, revealing the long, straight boxes of 
rough pine that held the remains of the two negroes, 
and lighting up the score or two of russet mounds where 
slept the dusky kinsmen who had gone before them. 

The simple head-boards that marked these hinnble 
graves chronicled no bad biography or senseless rhyme,, 
md told no false tales of lives that might better not have 
been, but "Sam, age 22;" "Pompeyj" "Jake's Eliza;" 



"Aunt Sue;" "Aunt Lucy's Tom;" "Joe;" and 
other like inscriptions, scratched in rough characters on 
the unplaned boards, were all the records there. The 
rude tenants had passed away and " left no sign ;" their 
birth, their age, their deeds, were alike unknown — un- 
known, but not forgotten ! for are they not written in 
the book of His remembrance — and when he counteth 
up his jewels, may not some of them be there ? 

The queer, grotesque dress, and sad, earnest looks of 
the black group ; the red, fitful glare of the blazing 
pine, and the white faces of the tapped trees, gleaming 
through the gloom like so many sheeted ghosts gather- 
ed to some death-carnival, made up a strange, wild scene 
— the strangest and the wildest I had ever witnessed* 

The covers of the rude coffins were not yet nailed 
down, and when we arrived, the blacks were, one by 
one, taking a last look at the faces of the dead. Soon, 
Junius, holding' his weeping wife by the hand, ap- 
proached the smaller of the two boxes, which held all 
that was left of their first-born. The mother, kneeling 
by its side, kissed again and again the cold, shrunken 
lips, and sobbed as if her heart would break ; and the 
strong frame of the father shook convulsively, as he 
choked down the great sorrow which welled up in his 
throat, and turned away from his boy forever. As he 
did so, old Pompey said : 

" Don't grebe, June, he'm whar de wicked cease from 
trubling, whar de weary am at rest." 

"I knows it ; I knows it, Uncle. I knows de Lord 



am bery good to take 'im 'way ; but why did he take 
de young chile, and leab de ole man har ?" 

" De little sapling dat grow in de shade may die while 
it'm young ; de great tree dat grow in de sun must lib 
till he'm rotted down." 

These words were the one drop wanting to make the 
great grief which was swelling in the negro's heart 
overflow. Giving one low, wild cry, he folded his wife 
in his arms, and burst into a paroxysm of tears. 

"Come now, my chil'ren," said the old preacher, 
kneeling down, " let us pray." 

The whole assemblage then knelt on the cold ground, 
while the old man prayed, and a more sincere, heart- 
touching prayer never went up from human lips to that 
God " who hath made of one blood all nations that 
dwell on the face of the earth." Though clothed in 
rags, and in feeble age at the mercy of a cruel task- 
master, that old slave was richer far than his master. 
His simple faith, which saw through the darkness around 
him into the clear and radiant light ot* the unseen day, 
was of far more worth than all the wealth and glory 
of this world. I know not why it was, but as I looked 
at him in the dim red light, which fell on his bent form 
and cast a strange halo around his upturned face, I 
thought of Stephen, as he gazed upward and beheld 
heaven open, and " the Son of Man seated at the right 
hand of the throne of God." 

Rising from his knees, the old preacher turned slowly 
to the black mass that encircled him, and said : 



" My dear brederin and sisters, de Lord say dat 4 de 
dust shill return to de earth as it war, and de spirit to 
Him who gabe it,' and now, 'eordin' to dat text, my 
friends, w r e'm gwine to put dis dust (pointing to the 
two coffins) in de groun' whar it cum from, and whar it 
shill lay till de bressed Lord blow de great trumpet on 
de resumrection mornin'. De spirits of our brudders 
bar de Lord hab already took to hisseff. c Our brud- 
ders,' I say, my chiTren, 'case ebery one dat de Lord 
hab made am brudders to you and to me, whedder 
dey'm bad or good, white or brack. 

" Dis young chile, who hab gone 'way and leff his 
pore fader and mudder suifrin' all ober wid grief, he 
hab gone to de Lord, shore. He neber done no wrong, 
he allers 'bey'd his massa, and neber said no hard word, 
nor found no fault, not eben w'en de cruel, bad ober- 
seer put de load so heaby on him dat it kill him. Yes, 
my brederin and sisters, he hab gone to de Lord ; gone 
whar dey don't work in de swamps ; whar de little 
chil'ren don't tote de big shingles fru de water up to dar 
knees. No swamps am dar ; no shingles am dar ; dey 
doan't need 'em, 'case dar de hous'n haint builded wid 
hands, for dey'm all builded by de Lord, and gib'n to 
de good niggers, ready-made, and for nuffin'. De Lord 
don't say, like as ded massa say, c Pomp, dar's de logs 
and de shingles' (dey'm allers pore shingles, &?, kine dat 
woant sell ; but massa say, % dey'm good 'miff for nig- 
gers,' ef de roof do leak). De Lord doan't say : ' Now, 
Pomp, you go to work and build you' own house ; but 



mine dat you does you' task all -de time, jess de same!' 
But de Lord — de bressed Lord — He say, w'en we goes 
up dar, c Dar, Pomp, dax's de house dat I'se been a 
buildin' for you eber senee c de foundation ob de worle. 
It'm done now, and you kin cum in ; your room am 
jess ready, and ole Sal and de chil'ren dat I tuk 'way 
from you eber so long ago, and dat you mourned ober 
and cried ober as ef you'd neber see dem agin, dey'm dar 
too, all on 'em, a wait-in, for you. Dey'm been flxin' up 
de house 'spressly for you all dese long years, and dey'b 
got it all nice and comfible now.' Yas, my friends, 
glory be to Him, dat's what our Heabenly massa say, 
and who ob you wouldn't hab sich a massa as dat ? A 
massa dat doant set you no hard tasks, and dat gibs you 
'nuff to eat, and time to rest and to sing and to play ! A 
massa dat doan't keep no Yankee oberseer to foller you 
'bout wid de big free-lashed whip ; but dat leads you 
hisseff to de green pastures and de still waters ; and 
w'en you'm a-faint and a-tired, and can't go no furder, 
dat takes you up in his arms, and carries you in his 
bosom ! What pore darky am dar dat wudn't hab sicli 
a massa ? What one ob us, eben ef he had to work 
jess so hard as we works nowv wudn't tink heseff de 
happiest nigger in de hull worle, ef he could hab sich 
hous'n to lib in as dem ? dem hous'n c not made wid 
hands, eternal in de heabens!' 

" But glory, glory to de Lord ! my chil'ren, wese all 
got dat massa, ef we only knowd it, and He'm buildin' 
dem hous'n up dar, now, for ebery one ob us dat am try- 



in' to be good and to lub one anoder. For ebery one 
ob us, I say, and we kin all git de fine hous'n ef we 

" Recolember, too, my brudders, dat our great Massa 
am rich, bery rich, and he kin do all he promise. He 
doant say, w'en wese worked ober time to git some lit- 
tle ting to comfort de sick chile, £ I knows, Pomp, you'se 
done de work, an' I did 'gree to gib you de pay ; but 
de fact am, Pomp, de frost hab come so sudden dis yar, 
dat I'se loss de hull ob de sebenf h dippin', and I'se pore, 
so pore, de chile muss go widout dis time.' No, no, 
brudders, de bressed Lord He neber talk so. He neber 
break, 'case de sebenfh dip am shet off, or 'case de price 
of turpentime gwo down at de Norf. He neber sell his 
niggers down Souf, 'case he lose his money on he hoss- 
race. No, my chil'ren, our Heabenly Massa am rich, 
rich, I say. He own all dis worle, and all de oder 
worles dat am shinin' up dar in de sky. He own dem 
all ; but he tink more ob one ob you, more ob one ob 
you — pore, ign'rant brack folks dat you am— dan ob 
all dem great worles ! Who wouldn't belong to sich a 
Massa as dat ? Who wouldn't be his nigger — not his 
slave — He doant hab no slaves — but his chile ; and * ef 
his chile, den his heir, de heir ob God, and de jined heir 
wid de bressed Jesus.' O my chil'ren ! tink of dat ! de 
heir ob de Lord ob all de 'arth and all de sky ! What 
white man kin be jnore'n dat ? 

" Don't none ob you say you'm too wicked to be His 
chile ; 'ca'se you haint. He lubs de wicked ones de best, 



'ca'se dey need his lub de most. Yas, my brudders, 
eben de wickedest, ef dey's only sorry, and turn roun' 
and leab off dar bad ways, he lub de bery best ob all, 
'ca'se he'm all lub and pity. 

" Sam, har, my chil'ren, war wicked, but don't we 
pity him ; don't we tink he hab a hard time, and don't 
we tink de bad oberseer, who'm layin' dar in de house 
jess ready to gwo and answer for it — don't we tink he 
gabe Sam bery great probincation ? 

" Dat's so," said a dozen of the auditors. 

" Den don't you 'spose dat de bressed Lord know all 
dat, and dat He pity Sam too. If we pore sinners feel 
sorrer for him, haint de Lord's heart bigger'n our'n, and 
haint he more sorrer for him ? Don't you tink dat ef 
He lub and pity de bery worse whites, dat He lub and 
pity pore Sam, who warn't so bery bad, arter all? 
Don't you tink He'll gib Sam a house ? P'r'aps' 'twont 
be one ob de fine hous'n, but wont it be a comfible 
house, dat hain't no cracks, and one dat'll keep out de 
wind and de rain ? And, don't you s'pose, my chil'ren, 
dat it'll be big 'nuff for Jule, too — dat pore, repentin' 
chile, whose heart am clean broke, 'ca'se she hab brought- 
en dis on Sam — and won't de Lord — -de good Lord — de 
tender-hearted Lord — won't He touch Sam's heart, and 
coax him to forgib Jule, and to take her inter his house 
up dar ? I knows he will, my chil'ren. I knows " 

The old negro paused abruptly; there was a quick 
swaying in the black crowd — a hasty rush — a wild cry — 
and Sam's wife burst into the open space around the 



preacher, and fell at his feet. Throwing her arms wildly 
about him, she shrieked out : 

" Say dat agin, Uncle Pomp ! for de lub ob de good 
Lord, oh ! say dat agin ! " 

Bending down, the old man raised her gently in his 
arms, and folding her there, as he would have folded a 
child, he said, in a voice thick with emotion : 

" It am so, Juley. I knows dat Sam will forgib you, 
and take you wid him up dar." 

Fastening her arms frantically around Pompey's neck, 
the poor woman burst into a paroxysm of grief, while 
the old man's tears fell in great drops on her upturned 
face, and many a dark cheek was wet, as with rain. 

The scene Lad lasted a few minutes, and I was turning 
away to hide the emotion that fast filled my eyes, and 
was creeping up, with a choking feeling, to my throat, 
when the Colonel, from the farther edge of the group, 
called out : 

" Take that d — d away — take her away, Pomp !" 

The old negro turned toward his master with a sad, 
grieved look, but gave no heed to the words. 

" Take her away, some of you, I say," again cried the 
Colonel. "Pomp, you mustn't keep these niggers all 
night in the cold." 

At the sound of her master's voice the metif woman 
fell to the ground as if struck by a Minie-ball. Soon 
several negroes lifted her up to bear her off; but she 
struggled violently, and rent the woods with her wild 
cries for " one more look at Sam." 



" Look at him, you &r— d ; then go, and don't let* 

me see you again." 

She threw herself on the face of the dead, and cov- 
ered the cold lips with her kisses ; then she rose, and 
with a weak, uncertain step, staggered out into the 

Was not the system which had so seared and hard- 
ened that man's heart, begotten in the lowest hell ? 

The old preacher said no more, but four stout negro 
men stepped forward, nailed down the lids, and lowered 
the rough boxes into the ground. Turning to Madam 

P , I saw her face was red with weeping. She 

turned to go as the first earth fell, with a dull, heavy 
sound, on the rude coffins ; and giving her my arm, I 
led her from the scene. 

As we walked slowly back to the house, a low wail — 
half a chant, half a dirge — rose from the black crowd, 
and floated off on the still night air, till it died away 
amid the far woods, in a strange, unearthly moan. With 
that sad, wild music in our ears, we entered the mansion. 

As we seated ourselves by the bright wood-fire on* 
the library hearth, obeying a sudden impulse which I 
could not restrain, I said to Madam P : 

"The Colonel's treatment of that poor woman is in- 
explicable to me. Why is he so hard with her ? It is 
not in keeping with what I have seen of his character." 

"The Colonel is a peculiar man," replied the lady. 
" Noble, generous, and a true friend, he is also a bitter, 
implacable enemy. When he once conceives a dislike, 



liis feelings become even vindictive. Never having had 
an nngratified wish, he does not know how to feel for 
the sorrows of those beneath him. Sam, though a proud, 
headstrong, unruly character, was a great favorite with 
him ; he felt his death much ; and as he attributes it to 
Jule, he feels terribly bitter toward her. She will have 
to be sold to get her out of his way, for he will never 
forgive her." 

It was some time before the Colonel joined us, and 
when at last he made his appearance, he seemed in no 
mood for conversation. The lady soon retired; but 
feeling unlike sleep, I took down a book from the shelves, 
drew my chair near the fire, and fell to reading. The 
Colonel, too, was deep in the newspapers, till, after a 
while, Jim entered the room : 

" I'se cum to ax ef you've nuffin more to-night, Cun- 
nel ?" said the negro. 

" No, nothing, Jim," replied his master ; " but, stay 
— hadn't you better sleep in front of Moye's door ?" 

"Dunno, sar; jess as you say." 
. " I think you'd better," returned the Colonel. 

" Yas, massa," and the darky -left the apartment. 

The Colonel shortly rose, and bade me " good-night." 
I continued reading till the clock struck eleven, when I 
laid the book aside and went to my room. 

I lodged, as I have said before, on the first floor, and 
was obliged to pass by the overseer's apartment in go- 
ing to mine. Wrapped in his blanket, and stretched at 
full length on the ground, Jim lay there, fast asleep. 



I passed on, thinking of the wisdom of placing a tired 
negro on guard over an acute and desperate Yankee. 

I rose in the morning with the sun, and had partly 
donned my clothing, when I heard a loud uproar in the 
hall. Opening my door, I saw Jim pounding vehe- 
mently at the Colonel's room, and looldng as pale as is 
possible wdth a person of his complexion. 

"What the d — 1 is the matter?" asked his master, 
who now, partly dressed, stepped into the hall. 
- "Move hab gone, sar — he'm gone and took Firefly 
(my host's five-thousand-dollar thorough-bred) wid him." 

For a moment the Colonel stood stupified ; then, his 
face turning to a cold, clayey white, he seized the black 
by the throat, and hurled him to the floor. With his 
thick boot raised, he seemed about to dash out the man's 
brains with its ironed heel, when, on the instant, the oc- 
toroon woman rushed, in her night-clothes, from his 
room, and, with desperate energy, pushed him aside, 
exclaiming : " What would you do ? Remember who 
he is!" 

The negro rose, and the Colonel, without a word, 
passed into his own apartment. 






I sauntered out, after the events recorded in the last 
chapter, to inhale the fresh air of the morning. A slight 
rain had fallen during the night, and it still moistened 
the dead leaves which carpeted the woods, making an 
extended walk out of the question ; so, seating myself 
on the trunk of a fallen tree, in the vicinity of the house, 
I awaited the hour for breakfast. I had not remained 
there long before I heard the voices of my host and 
Madam P on the front piazza : 

" I tell you, Alice, I cannot — must not do it. If I 
overlook this, the discipline of the plantation is at an 

" Do what you please with him when you return," re- 
plied the lady, "but do not chain him up, and leave me, 
at such a time, alone. You know Jim is the only one I 
can depend on." 

" Well, have your own way. You know, my darling, 
I would not cause you a moment's uneasiness, but I 
must follow up this d d Move." 

I was seated where I could hear, though I could not 
see the speakers, but it was evident from the tone of the 
last remark, that an action accompanied it quite as ten- 



der as the words. Being unwilling to overhear more 
of a private conversation, I rose and approached them. 

"Ah ! my dear fellow," said the Colonel, on perceiving 
me, " are you stirring so early ? I was about to send to 
your room to ask if you'll go with me up the country. 

My d d overseer has got away, and I must follow 

him at once." 

" I'll go with pleasure," I replied. " Which way do 
you think Moye has gone ?" 

" The shortest cut to the railroad, probably ; but old 
Csesar will track him." 

A servant then announced breakfast — an early one 
having been prepared. We hurried through the meal 
with all speed, and the other preparations being soon 
over, were in twenty minutes in our saddles, and ready 
for the journey. The mulatto coachman, with a third 
horse, was at the door, ready to accompany us. As we 
mounted, the Colonel said to him : 

" Co and call Sam, the driver." 

The darky soon returned with the heavy, ugly-visaged 

black who had been whipped, by Madam P 's order, 

the day before. 

"Sam," said his master, "I shall be gone some days, 
and I leave the field-work in your hands. Let me have 
a good account of you when I return." 

" Yas, massa, you shill dat," replied the negro. 

" Put Jule — Sam's Jule — into the woods, and see that 
she does full tasks," continued the Colonel. 

" Haint she wanted 'mong de nusses, massa ?" 



Put some one else there — give her field-work ; she 
needs it." 

On large plantations the young children of the field- 
women are left with them only at night, and are herded 
together during the day, in a separate cabin, in charge 
of nurses. These nurses are feeble, sickly women, or re- 
cent mothers ; and the fact of Jule's being employed in 
that capacity was evidence that she was unfit for out- 
door labor. 

Madam P , who was waiting on the piazza to see 

us off, seemed about to remonstrate against this ar- 
rangement, but she hesitated a moment, and in that 
moment we had bidden her " Good-bye," and galloped 

We were soon at the cabin of the negro-hunter, and 
the coachman, dismounting, called him out. 

" Hurry up, hurry up," said the Colonel, as Sandy ap- 
peared, " we haven't a moment to spare." 

"Jest so — jest so, Gunnel; I'll jine ye in a jimn," re- 
plied he of the reddish extremities. 

Emerging from the shanty with provoking delibera- 
tion — the impatience of my host had infected me — the 
clay-eater slowly proceeded to mount the horse of the 
negro, while his dirt-bedraggled wife, and clay-encrusted 
children, followed close at his heels, the younger ones 
huddling around for the tokens of paternal affection 
usual at parting. Whether it was the noise they made, 
or their frightful aspect, I know not, but the horse, a 
spirited animal, took fright on their appearance, and 



nearly broke away from the negro, who was holding 
him. Seeing this, the Colonel said : 

" Clear out, you young scare-crows. Into the house 
with you." 

" They arn't no more scare-crows than yourn, Cunnel 

J ," said the mother, in a decidedly belligerent tone. 

" You may 'buse my old man — he kin stand it— but ye 
shan't blackguard my young 'uns!" 

The Colonel laughed, and was about to make a good- 
natured reply, when Sandy yelled out : 

" Gwo enter the house and shet up, ye ." 

With this affectionate fare well, he turned his horse" 
and led the way up the road. 

♦ The dog, who was a short distance in advance, soon 
gave a piercing howl, and started off at the speed of a 
reindeer. He had struck the trail, and urging our 
horses to their fastest speed, we followed. 

We were all well mounted, but the mare the Colonel 
had given me was a magnificent animal, as fleet as the 
wind, and with a gait so easy that her back seemed a 
rocking-chair. Saddle-horses at the South are trained 
to the gallop — Southern riders not deeming it necessary 
that one's breakfast should be churned into a Dutch 
cheese by a trotting nag, in order that he may pass for 
a horseman. 

We had ridden on at a perfect break-neck pace for half 
an hour, when the Colonel shouted to our companion : 

"Sandy, call the dog in; the horses wont last ten 
miles at this gait — we've a long ride before us." 

the ruRSurr. 


The dirt-eater did as he was bidden, and we soon set- 
tled iiito a gentle gallop. 

We had passed through a dense forest of pines, but 
were emerging into a " bottom country," where some of 
the finest deciduous trees — then brown and leafless, but 
bearing promise of the opening beauty of spring — reared, 
along with the unfading evergreen, their tall stems in 
the air. The live-oak, the sycamore, the Spanish mul- 
berry, the holly, and the persimmon — gaily festooned 
with wreaths of the white and yellow jessamine, the 
woodbine and the cypress-moss, and bearing here and 
there a bouquet of the mistletoe, with its deep green and 
glossy leaves upturned to the sun — flung their broad 
arms over the road, forming an archway grander and 
more beautiful than any the hand of man ever wove for 
the greatest hero the world has worshipped. 

The woods were free from underbrush, and a coarse, 
wiry grass, unfit for fodder, and scattered through them 
in detatched patches, was the only vegetation visible. 
The ground was mainly covered with the leaves and 
burrs of the pine. 

We passed great numbers of swine, feeding on these 
burrs, and now and then a horned animal browsing on 
the cypress-moss where it hung low on the trees. I ob- 
served that nearly all the swine were marked, though 
they seemed too wild to have ever seen an owner, or a 
human habitation. They were a long, lean, slab-sided 
race, with legs and shoulders like deer, and bearing 
no sort of resemblance to the ordinary hog, except in 



tlie snout, and that feature was so much longer and 
sharper than the nose of the Northern swine, 'that I 
doubt if Agassiz would class the two as one species. 
However, they have their uses — they make excellent 
bacon, and are " death on snakes." Ireland itself is not 
more free from the serpentine race than are the districts 
frequented by these long-nosed quadrupeds. 

" We call them Carolina race-horses," said the Colonel, 
as he finished an account of their peculiarities. 

" Race-horses ! Why, are they fleet of foot ?" 

" Fleet as deer. I'd match one against an ordinary 
horse at any time." 

" Come, my friend, you're practising on my ignorance 
of natural history." 

"Not a bit of it. See! there's a good specimen 
yonder. If we can. get him into the road, and fairly 
started, I'll bet you a dollar he'll beat Sandy's mare on 
a half-mile stretch — Sandy to hold the stakes and have 
the winnings." 

u Well, agreed," I said, laughing, " and I'll give the 
pig ten rods the start." 

" No," replied the Colonel, " you can't afford it. 
He'll have to start ahead, but you'll need that in the 
count. Come, Sandy, will you go in for the pile ?" 

I'm not sure that the native would not have run a 
race with Old Nicholas himself, for the sake of so much 
money. To him it was a vast sum ; and as he thought 
of it, his eyes struck small sparks, and his enormous 
beard and mustachio vibrated with something that 



faintly resembled a laugh. Replying to the question, 
he said: 

" Kinder reckon I wull, Cunnel; howsomdever, I keeps 
the stakes, ony how ?" 

" Of course," said the planter, " but be honest — win 
if you can." 

Sandy halted his horse in the road, while the planter 
and I took to the woods on either side of the way. The 
Colonel soon manoeuvred to separate the selected ani- 
mal from the rest of the herd, and, without much diffi- 
culty, got him into the road, where, by closing down on 
each flank, we kept him till he and Sandy were fairly 
under way. 

" He'll keep to the road when once started," said the 
Colonel, laughing: "and he'll show you some of the 
tallest running you ever saw in your life." 

Away they went. At first the pig, seeming not ex- 
actly to comprehend the programme, cantered off at 
a leisurely pace, though be held his own. Soon, how- 
ever, he cast an eye behind him — halted a moment to 
collect his thoughts and reconnoitre — and then, lower- 
ing his head and elevating his tail, put forth all his 
speed. And such speed ! Talk of a deer, the w^ind, or 
a steam-engine — they are not to be compared with it. 
Nothing in nature I ever saw run— except, it may be, a 
Southern tornado, or a Sixth Ward politician — could 
hope to distance that pig. He gained on the horse at 
every step, and it w^as soon evident that my dollar waa 
gone ! # 



" ' In for a shilling, in for a pound,' is the adage, so, 
turning to the Colonel, I said, as intelligibly as my 
horse's rapid pace and my excited risibilities wouid 
allow : 

" I see I've lost, but I'll go you another dollar that 
you can't beat the pig !" 

" ~No — sir !" the Colonel got out in the breaks of his 
laughing explosions ; " you can't hedge on me in that 
manner. I'll go a dollar that you can't do it, and your 
mare is the fastest on the road. She won me a thou- 
sand not a month ago." 

" Well, I'll do it— Sandy to have the stakes." 

" Agreed," said the Colonel, and away ice went. 

The swinish racer was about a hundred yards ahead 
when I gave the mare the reins, and told her to go. 
And she did go. She flew against the wind with a mo- 
tion so rapid that my face, as it clove the air, felt as if 
cutting its way through a solid body, and the trees, as 
we passed, seemed struck with panic, and running for 
dear life in the opposite direction. 

For a few moments I thought the mare was gaining, 
and I turned to the Colonel with an exultant look. 

"Don't shout till you win, my boy," he called out 
from the distance where I was fast leaving him and 

I did not shout, for spite of all my efforts the space 
between me and the pig seemed to widen. Yet I kept 
on, determined to win, till, at the end of a short half- 
mile, we reacted the Waccamaw — the swine still a 



hundred yards ahead! There his pigship halted, turn* 
ed coolly around, eyed me for a moment, then with a 
quiet, deliberate trot, turned off into the woods. 

A bend in the road kept my companions out of sight 
for a few moments, and when they came up I had some- 
what recovered my breath, though the mare was blow- 
ing hard, and reeking with foam. 

" Well," said the Colonel, u what do you think of our 
bacon ' as it runs ?' " 

" I think the Southern article can't be beat, whether 
raw or cooked, standing or running." 

At this moment the hound, who had been leisurely 
jogging along in the rear, disdaining to join in the race 
in which his dog of a master and I had engaged, came 
up, and dashing quickly on to the river's edge, set up 
a most dismal howling. The Colonel dismounted, and 
clambering down the bank, which was there twenty feet 
high, and very steep, shouted : 

u The d — d Yankee has swum the stream !" 

" Why so ?" I asked. 

" To cover his tracks and delay pursuit ; but he has 
overshot the mark. There is no other road within ten 
miles, and he must have taken to this one again beyond 
here. HeVlost twenty minutes by this manoeuvre. Come, 
Sandy, call in the dog, we'll push on a little faster." 

" But he tuk to t'other bank, Cunnel. Shan't we trail 
him thar ?" asked Sandy. 

" And suppose he found a boat here," I suggested, 
" and made the shore some ways down ?" 



" He couldn't get Firefly into a flat — we should only 
waste time in scouring the other bank. The swamp 
this side the next run has forced him into the road 
within five miles. The trick is transparent. He took 
me for a fool," replied the Colonel, answering both ques- 
tions at once. 

I had reined my horse out of the road, and when my 
companions turned to go, was standing at the edge of 
the Dank, overlooking the river. Suddenly I saw, on 
one of the abutments of the bridge, what seemed a long, 
black log — strange to say, in motion ! 

" Colonel," I shouted, " see there ! a live log as I'm a 
white man !" 

" Lord bless you," cried the planter, taking an observa- 
tion, " it's an alligator !" 

I said no more, but pressing on after the hound, soon 
left my companions out of sight. For long afterward, 
the Colonel, in a doleful way, would allude to my la- 
mentable deficiency in natural history — particularly in 
such branches as bacon and "live logs." 

I had ridden about five miles, keeping well up with 
the hound, and had reached the edge of the swamp, 
when suddenly the dog darted to the side of the road, 
and began to yelp in the most frantic manner. Dis- 
mounting, and leading jny horse to the spot, I made out 
plainly the print of Firefly's feet in the sand. There 
was no mistaking it — that round shoe on the off fore- 
foot. (The horse had, when a colt, a cracked hoof, and 
though the wound was outgrown, the foot was still ten- 



der.) These prints were dry, while the tracks we had 
seen at the river were filled with water, thus proving 
that tl e rain had ceased while the overseer was passing 
between the two places, fie was therefore not far off. 

The Colonel and Sandy soon rode up. 

" Caught a live log ! eh, my good fellow ?" asked my 
host, with a laugh. 

" No ; but here's the overseer as plain as daylight ; 
and his tracks not wet !" 

Quickly dismounting, he examined the ground, and 
then exclaimed: 

" The d — 1 it's a fact — here not four hours ago 1 

He has doubled on his tracks since, I'll wager, and not 
made twenty miles — we'll have him before night, sure ! 
Come, mount — quick." 

We sprang into our saddles, and again pressed rapidly 
on after the dog, who followed the scent at the top of 
his speed. 

Some three miles more of wet, miry road took us .to 
the run of which the Colonel had spoken. Arrived 
there, we foimd the hound standing on the bank, wet to 
the skin, and looking decidely chop-fallen. 

" Death and d n !" shouted the Colonel ; " the dog 

has swum the run, and lost the trail on the other side ! 
The d — d scoundrel has taken to the water, and balked 
us after all ! Take up the dog, Sandy, and try him again 
over there." 

The native spoke to Caesar, who bounded on to the 
horse's back in front of his master. They then crossed 



the stream, which there was about fifty yards wide, and 
so shallow that in the deepest part the water merely 
touched the horse's breast ; but it was so roiled by the 
recent rain that we could not distinguish the foot-prints 
of the horse beneath the surface. 

The dog ranged up and down the opposite bank, but 
all to no purpose : the overseer had not been there. 
He had gone either up or down the stream — in which 
direction, was now the question. Calling Sandy back 
to our side of the run, the Colonel proceeded to hold a 
4 council of war.' Each one gave his opinion, which was 
canvassed by the others, with as much solemnity as if 
the fate of the Ur^on hung on the decision. 

The native proposed we should separate — one go 
up, another down the stream, and the third, with the 
dog, follow the road ; to which he thought Moye had 
finally returned. Those who should explore the run 
w r ould easily detect the horse's tracks where he had 
left it, and then taking a straight course to the road, 
all might meet some five miles further on, at a place 

I gave my adhesion to Sandy's plan, but the Colonel 
overruled it on the ground of the waste of time that 
would be incurred in thus recovering the overseer's 

" Why not," he said, " strike at once for the end of his 
route ? Why follow the slow steps he took in order to 
throw us olf the track ? He has not come back to this 
road. Ten miles below there is another one leading also 



to the railway. He has taken that. We might as 
well send Sandy and the dog back and go on by our- 

" But if bound for the Station, why should he wade 
through the creek here, ten miles out of his way ? "Why 
not go straight on by the road ?" I asked. 

" Because he knew the dog would track him, and he 
hoped by taking to the run to make me think he 
had crossed the country instead of striking for the rail- 

I felt sure the Colonel was wrong, but knowing him 
to be tenacious of his own opinions, I made no further 
objection. # 

Directing Sandy to call on Madam P and acquaint 

her with our progress, he then dismissed the negro- 
hunter, and once more led the way up the road. 

The next twenty miles, like our previous route, lay 
through an unbroken forest. As we left the water- 
courses, we saw only the gloomy pines, which there — 
the region being remote from the means of transporta- 
tion — were seldom tapped, and presented few of the 
openings that invite the weary traveller to the dwelling 
of the hospitable planter. 

After a time the sky, which had been bright and 
cloudless all the morning, grew overcast, and gave out 
tokens of a coming storm. A black cloud gathered in 
the west, and random flashes darted from it far off in 
the distance ; then gradually it neared us ; low mutter- 
ings sounded in the air, and the tops of the tall pines a 



few miles away, were lit up now and then with a fitful 
"blaze, all the brighter for the deeper gloom that suc- 
ceeded. Then a terrific flash and peal broke directly 
over us, and a great tree, struck by a red-hot bolt, fell 
with a deafening crash, half way across our path. Peal 
after peal followed, and then the rain — not filtered into 
drops as it falls from our colder sky, but in broad, blind- 
ing sheets — poured full and heavy on our shelterless 

"Ah! there it comes!" shouted the Colonel. "God 
have mercy upon us !" 

As he spoke, a crashing, crackling, thundering roar 
rose above the storm, filling the air, and shaking the 
solid earth till it trembled beneath our horses' feet, as if 
upheaved by a volcano. ISTearer and nearer the sound 
came, till it seemed that all the legions of darkness were 
unloosed in the forest, and were mowing down the great 
pines as the mower mows the grass with his scythe. 
Then an awful, sweeping crash thundered directly at our 
backs, and turning round, as if to face a foe, my horse, 
who had borne the roar and the blinding flash till then 
unmoved, paralyzed with dread, and panting for breath, 
sunk to the ground ; while close at my side the Colonel, 
standing erect in his stirrups, his head uncovered to the 
pouring sky, cried out : 

"Thank God, we are saved!" 

There — not three hundred yards in our rear, had pass- 
ed the tornado — uprooting trees, prostrating dwellings, 
and sending many a soul to its last account, but sparing 



us for another day ! For thirty miles through the forest 
it had mowed a swath of two hundred feet, and then 
moved on to stir the ocean to its briny depths. 

With a full heart, I remounted, and turning my horse, 
pressed on in the rain. We said not a word till a friend- 
ly opening pointed the way to a planter's dwelling. 
Then calling to me to follow, the Colonel dashed up the 
"by-path which led to the mansion, and in five minutes 
we were warming our chilled limbs before the cheerful 
fire that roared and crackled on its broad hearth-stone. 






The house was a large, old-fashioned frame building, 
square as a packing-box, and surrounded, as all country 
dwellings at the South are, by a broad, open piazza. 
Our summons was answered by its owner, a well-to-do, 
substantial, middle-aged planter, wearing the ordinary 
homespun of the district, but evidently of a station in 
life much above the common "corn-crackers" I had seen 
at the country meeting-house. The Colonel was an ac- 
quaintance, and greeting us with great cordiality, our 
host led the way directly to the sitting-room. There we 
found a bright, blazing fire, and a pair of bright sparkling 
eyes, the latter belonging to a blithesome young woman 
of about twenty, with a cheery face, and a half-rustic, 
half-cultivated air, whom our new friend introduced to 
us as his wife. 

M I regret not having had the pleasure of meeting Mrs, 

S before, but am very happy to meet her now," said 

the Colonel, with all the well-bred, gentlemanly ease that 
distinguished him. 

" The pleasure is mutual, Colonel J ," replied the 

lady, "but thirty miles in this wild country, should not 
have made a neighbor so distant as you have been." 



" Business, madam, is at fault, as your husband knows. 
I Lave much to do ; and besides, all my connections are 
in the other direction — with Charleston." 

"It's a fact, Sally, the Colonel is the d busy 

man hi these parts. Not content with a big planta- 
tion and three hundred niggers, he iooks after all 
South Carolina, and the rest of creation to boot," said 
our host. 

"Tom will have his joke, Madam, but he's not far 
from the truth." 

Seeing we were dripping wet, the lady offered us a 
change of clothing, and retiring to a chamber, we each 
appropriated a suit belonging to our host, giving our 
own to a servant, to be dried. 

Arrayed in our fresh apparel, we soon rejoined our 
friends in the sitting-room. The new garments fitted 
the Colonel tolerably well, but, though none too long, 
they were a world too wide for me, and as my wet hair 
hung in smooth flat folds down my cheeks, and my limp 
shirt-collar fell over my linsey coat, I looked, for all the 
world like a cross between a theatrical Aminadab Sleek 
and Sir John Falstaff, with the stuffing omitted. When 
our hostess caught sight of me in this new garb, she 
rubbed her hands together in great glee, and, springing 
to her feet, gave vent to a perfect storm of laughter- 
jerking out between the explosions : 

" Why — you — you — look jest like — a scare-crow." 

There was no mistaking that hearty, hoydenish man- 
ner ; and seizing both of her hands in mine, I shouted : 



"I've found you out — you're a "country-woman" ot 

mine — a clear-blooded Yankee!" 

" What ! you a Yankee !" she exclaimed, still laugh- 
ing, "and here with this horrid £ secesherner,' as they 
call him." 

"True as preachin', Ma'am," I replied, adopting the 
drawl — " all the way from Down East, and Union, tu, 
stiff as buckram." 

"Du tell !" she exclaimed, swinging my hands together 
as she held them in hers. " If I warn't hitched to this 
'ere feller, I'd give ye a smack right on the spot. I'm 
so glad to see ye." 

"Do it, Sally — never mind me," cried her husband, 
joining heartily in the merriment. 

Seizing the collar of my coat with both hands, she 
drew my face down till my lips almost touched hers (I 
was preparing to blush, and the Colonel shouted, "Come, 
come, I shall tell his wife") : but then turning quickly 
on her heel, she threw herself into a chair, exclaiming, 
"J wouldn't mind, but the old man icould be jealous" 
Addressing the Colonel, she added, "You needn't be 
troubled, sir, no Yankee girl will kiss you till you change 
your politics." 

" Give me that inducement, and I'll change them on 
the spot," said the Colonel. 

" No, no, Dave, 'twouldn't do," replied the planter ; 
"the conversion wouldn't be genuwine — besides such 
things arn't proper, except 'mong blood-relations — and 
all the Yankees, you know are first-cousins." 



The conversation then subsided into a more placid 
mood, but lost none of its genial, good humor, lie- 
freshments were soon set before us, and while partaking 
of them I gathered from our hostess that she was a Ver- 
mont country-girl, who, some three years before, had 
been induced by libera! pay to come South as a teacher. 
A sister accompanied her, and about a year after their ar- 
rival, she married a neighboring planter. Wishing to be 
near her sister, our hostess had also married and settled 
down for life in that wild region. " I like the country 
very well," she added ; " it's a great sight easier living 
here than in Vermont ; but I do hate these lazy, shiftless, 
^good-for-nothing niggers ; they are so slow, and so care- 
less, and so dirty, that I sometimes think they will worry 
the very life out of me. I do believe I'm the hardest 
mistress in all the district." 

I learned from her that a majority of the teachers at 
the South are from the North, and principally, too, from 
New England. Teaching is a very laborious employ- 
ment there, far more so than with us, for the Southern- 
ers have no methods like ours, and the same teacher 
usually has to hear lessons in branches all the way from 
Greek and Latin to the simple ABC. The South has 
no system of public instruction; no common schools; 
no means of placing within the reach of the sons and 
daughters of the poor even the elements of knowl- 
edge. While the children of the wealthy are most care- 
fully educated, it is the policy of the ruling keep 
the great mass of the people in ignorance ; and so long 



as this policy continues, so long will that section be as 
far behind the North as it now is, in all that constitutes 
true prosperity and greatness. 

The afternoon wore rapidly and pleasantly away in 
the genial society of our wayside-friends. Politics were 
discussed (our host was a Union man), the prospects of 
the turpentine crop talked over, the recent news can- 
vassed, the usual neighborly topics touched upon, and — 
I hesitate to confess it — a considerable quantity of corn 
whiskey disposed of, before the Colonel discovered, all 
at once, that it was six o'clock, and we were still seven- 
teen miles from the railway station. Arraying our- 
selves again in our dried garments, we bade a hasty butj 
regretful " good-bye" to our hospitable entertainers, and 
once more took to the road. 

The storm had cleared away, but the ground was 
heavy with the recent rain, and our horses were sadly 
jaded with the ride of the morning. We gave them the 
reins, and, jogging on at their leisure, it was ten o'clock 
at night before they landed us at the little hamlet of 
W Station, in the state of North Carolina. 





A laege hotel, or station-house, and about a dozen 
Jog shanties made up the village. Two of these struc- 
tures were negro-cabins ; two were small groceries, in 
which the vilest alcoholic compounds were sold at a bit 
(ten cents) a glass ; one was a lawyer's office, in which 
was the post-office, and a justice's court, where, once 
a month, the small offenders of the vicinity " settled up 
their accounts one was a tailoring and clothing estab- 
lishment, where breeches were patched at a dime a 
stitch, and payment taken in tar and turpentine; and 
the rest were private dwellings of one apartment, occu- 
pied by the grocers, the tailor, the switch-tenders, the 
postmaster, and the negro attaches of the > railroad. 
The church and the school-house — the first buildings to 
go up in a Northern village — I have omitted to enumer- 
ate, because — they were not there. 

One of the natives told me that the lawyer was a 
" stuck-up critter ;" "he don't lire; he don't — he puts-up 
at th' hotel." And the hotel ! Would Shakspeare, had 
he have known it, have written of taking one's ease 
at his inn ? It was a long, framed building, two stories 



high, with a piazza extending across the side and a 
front door crowded as closely into one corner as the 
width of the joist would permit. Under the piazza, 
ranged along the wall, was a low bench, occupied by 
about forty tin wash-basins and water-pails, and with 
coarse, dirty crash towels suspended on rollers above it. 
By the side of each of these towels hung a comb and a 
brush, to which a lock of everybody's hair was clinging, 
forming in the total a stock sufficient to establish any 
barber in the wig business. 

It was, as I have said, ten o'clock when we reached 
the Station. Throwing the bridles of our horses over 
the hitching-posts at the door, we at once made our 
way to the bar-room. That apartment, which was in 
the rear of the building, and communicated with by a 
long, narrow passage, was filled almost to suffocation, 
when we entered, by a cloud of tobacco smoke, the fumes 
of bad whiskey, and a crowd of drunken chivalry, through 
whom the Colonel with great difficulty elbowed his way 
to the counter, where "mine host" and two assistants 
were dispensing " liquid death," at the rate of ten cents 
a glass, and of ten glasses a minute. 

" Hello, Cunnel, how ar' ye," cried the red-faced 
liquor-vender, as he caught sight of my companion, and, 
rehnquishing his lucrative employment for a moment, 
took the Colonel's hand, " how ar' ye ?" 

"Quite well, thank you, Miles," said the Colonel, 
with a certain patronizing air, " have you seen my man, 
Moye ?" 



"Moye, no ! What's up with him ?" 

" He's run away with my horse, Firefly — I thought 
he would have made for this station. At what time does 
the next train go up ?" 

" Wai, it's due half arter 'leven, but 'taint gin'rally 
'long till nigh one." 

The Colonel was turning to join me at the door, 
when a well-dressed young man of very unsteady move- 
ments, who was filling a glass at the counter, and star- 
ing at him with a sort of dreamy amazement, stammered 
out, " Moye — run — run a — way, zir ! that — k — kant be 
— by G — . I know — him, zir — he's a — a friend of mine, 
and — I'm — I'm d d if he ain't hon — honest." 

" About as honest as the Yankees run," replied the 
Colonel, " he's a d d thief, sir !" 

" Look here — here, zir — don't — don't you — you zay 

any — thing 'gainst — the Yankees. D d if — if I 

aint — one of 'em mezelf — zir," said the fellow stagger- 
ing toward the Colonel. 

" I don't care what you are; you're drunk." 

" You lie — you — you d d 'ris — 'ristocrat," was 

the reply, as the inebriated gentleman aimed a blow, 
with all his unsteady might, at the Colonel's face. 

The South Carolinian stepped quickly aside, and dex- 
terously threw his foot before the other, who — his blow 
not meeting the expected resistance — was unable to re- 
cover himself, and fell headlong to the floor. The plante" 
turned on his heel, and was walking quietly away, when 
the sharp report of a pistol sounded through the apart- 



ment, and a ball tore through the top of his boot, 
and lodged in the wall within two feet of where I was 
standing. With a spring, quick and sure as the tiger's, 
the Colonel was on the drunken man. Wrenching away 
the weapon, he seized the fellow by the neck-tie, and 
drawing hirn up to nearly his full height, dashed him at 
one throw to the other end of the room. Then raising 
the revolver he coolly levelled it to fire ! 

But a dozen strong men were on him. The pistol 
was out of his hand, and his arms were pinioned in an 
instant ; while cries of " Fair play, sir !" " He's drunk !" 
" Don't hit a man when he's down," and other like ex- 
clamations, came from all sides. 

"Give me fair play, you d d North Carolina 

hounds," cried the Colonel, struggling violently to get 
away, " and I'll fight the whole posse of you." 

" One's 'nuff for yoa^ ye d d fire-eatin' 'ristocrat ;" 

said a long, lean, bushy-haired, be-whiskered individual, 
who was standing near the counter : " ef ye want to 
fight, FIX 'tend to yer case to oust. Let him go, boys," 
he continued as he stepped toward the Colonel, and 
parted the crowd that had gathered around him : " give 
him the shootin'-iron,- and let's see ef he'll take a man 
thet's sober." 

I saw serious trouble was impending, and stepping 
forward, I said to the last speaker^" My friend, you 
have no quarrel with this gentleman. He has treated 
that man only as you would have done." 

" P'raps thet's so ; but he's a d d hound of a 



Secesherner thet's draggin' us all to h — U ; it'll du the 
country good to git quit of one on 'em." 

" Whatever his politics are, he's a gentleman, sir, and 
has done you no harm — let me beg of you to let him 

" Don't beg any thing for me, Mr. K growled 

the Colonel through his barred teeth, "I'll fight the 
d d corn-cracker, and his whole race, at once." 

" Xo you won't, my friend. For the sake of those at 
home you won't ;" I said, taking him by the arm, and 
partly leading, partly forcing him, toward the door. 

" And who in h — 11 ar you ?" asked the corn-cracker, 
planting himself squarely in my way. 

" I'm on the same side of politics with you, Union to 
the core !" I replied. 

" Ye ar ! Union ! Then give us yer fist," said he, 

grasping me by the hand ; " by it does a feller good 

to see a man dressed in yer does thet haint 'fraid to say 
he's Union, so close to South Car'lina, tu, as this ar ! 
Come, hev a drink : come boys — all round — let's liquor !" 

" Excuse me now, my dear fellow — some other time 
I'll be glad to join you." 

" Jest as ye say, but thar's my fist, enyhow." 

He gave me another hearty shake of the hand, and the 
crowd parting, I made my way with the Colonel out of 
the room. We were followed by Miles, the landlord, 
who, when we had reached the front of the entrance- 
way, said, " I'm right sorry for this row, gentlemen ; the 
boys will hev a time when they gets together." ' 



" Oh, never mind :" said the Colonel, who had recov- 
covered his coolness ; " but why are all these people 
here ?" 

" Thar's a barbacue cumin' off to-morrer on the camp- 
ground, and the house is cram full." 

" Is that so ?" said the Colonel, then turning to me 
he added, " Move has taken the railroad somewhere else ; 
I must get to a telegraph office at once, to head him off. 
The nearest one is Wilmington. With all these rowdies 
here, it will not do to leave the horses alone — will you 
stay and keep an eye on them over to-morrow ?" 

" Yes, I will, cheerfully." 

" Thar's a mighty hard set, round har now, Cunnel," 
said the landlord ; " and the most peaceable get enter 
scrapes ef'they hain't no friends. Hadn't ye better 
show the gentleman some of your'n, 'fore you go ?" 

" Yes, yes, I didn't think of that. Who is here ?" 

"Wal, thar's Cunnel Taylor, Bill Barnes, Sam Hed- 
dleson, Jo Shackelford, Andy Jones, Rob Brown, and 
lots of others." 

" Where's Andy Jones ?" 

" Reckon he's turned in ; I'll see." 

As the landlord opened a door which led from the 
hall, the Colonel said to me, " Andy is a Union mar ; 
but he'd fight to the- death for me." 

" Sal !" called out the hotel keeper. 

" Yas, massa, I'se har," was the answer from a slat* 
ternly woman, awfully black in the face, who soon thrust 
her head from the door-way. 



" Is Andy Jones har ?" asked Miles. 

" Yas, massa, he'm turned in np thar on de table." 

We followed the landlord into the apartment. It was 
the dining-room of the hotel, and by the dim light which 
came from a smoky fire on the hearth, I saw it contained 
about a hundred people, who, wrapped in blankets, bed- 
quilts and travelling-shawls, were disposed in all conceiv- 
able attitudes, and scattered about on the hard floor 
and tables, sleeping soundly. The room was a long, low 
apartment — extending across the entire front of the 
house — and had a wretched, squalid look. The fire, 
which was tended by the negro- woman — (she had spread 
a blanket on the floor, and was keeping a drowsy watch 
over it for the night) — had been recently replenished 
with green wood, and was throwing out thick volumes 
of black smoke, which, mixing with the eflluvia from the 
lungs of a hundred sleepers, made up an atmosphere 
next to impossible to breathe. Not a window was open, 
and not an aperture for ventilation could be seen ! 

Carefully avoiding the arms and legs of the recum- 
bent chivalry, we picked our way, guided by the negro- 
girl, to the corner of the room where the Unionist was 
sleeping. Shaking him briskly by the shoulder, the 
Colonel called out : " Andy ! Andy ! wake up !" 

"What — what the d 1 is the matter ?" stammered 

the slaeper, gradually opening his eyes, and raising 
himself on one elbow, " Lord bless you, Cunnel, is that 
you ? what in brought you har ?" 



" Business, Andy. Come, get up, I want to see you, 
and I can't talk here." 

The North Carolinian slowly rose, and throwing his 
blanket over his shoulders, followed us from the room. 
When we had reached the open air the Colonel intro- 
duced me to his friend, who expressed surprise, and a 
great deal of pleasure, at meeting a Northern Union 
man in the Colonel's company. 

"Look after our horses, now, Miles; Andy and I want 
to talk," said the planter to the landlord, with ahout as 
little ceremony as he would have shown to a negro. 

I thought the white man did not exactly relish the 
Colonel's manner, but saying, "All right, all right, sir," 
he took himself away. 

. The night was raw and cold, but as all the rooms of 
the hotel were occupied, either by sleepers or carousers, 
we had no other alternative than to hold our conference 
in the open air. Near the railway-track a light-wood fire 
was blazing, and, obeying the promptings of the frosty- 
atmosphere, we made our way to it. Lying on the 
ground around it, divested of all clothing except a pair 
of linsey trousers and a flannel shirt, and with their 
naked feet close to its blaze — roasting at one extremity, 
and freezing at the other — were several blacks, the 
switch-tenders and woodmen of the Station — fast asleep. 
How human beings could sleep in such circumstances 
seemed a marvel, but further observation convinced me 
that the Southern negro has a natural aptitude for that 
exercise, and will, indeed, bear more exposure than any 



other living thing. Nature in giving him such powers 
of endurance, appears to have specially fitted him for the 
life of hardship and privation to which he is born. 

The fire-light enabled me to scan the appearance of 
my new acquaintance. He was rather above the medi- 
um height, squarely and somewhat stoutly built, and 
had an easy and self-possessed, though rough and unpol- 
ished manner. His foce, or so much of it as was visible 
from underneath a thick mass of reddish gray hair, de- 
noted a firm, decided character ; but there was a manly, 
open, honest expression about it that gained one's confi- 
dence in a moment. He wore a slouched hat and a suit 
of the ordinary " sheep's-grey," cut in the "sack" fash- 
ion, and hanging loosely about him. He seemed a 
man who had made his own -way in the world, and I 
subsequently learned that appearances did not belie him. 
The son of a " poor white" man, with scarcely the first 
rudiments of book-education, he had, by sterling worth, 
natural ability, and great force of character, accumu- 
lated a handsome property, and acquired a leading 
position in his district. Though on "the wrong side 
of politics," his personal popularity was so great that 
for several successive years he had been elected to rep- 
resent the county in the state legislature. The Colonel, 
though opposed to him in politics — and party feeling at 
the South runs so high that political opponents are sel- 
dom personal friends — had, in the early part of tis 
career, aided him by his endorsements ; and Andy had 
not forgotten the service. It was easy to see that while 



two men could not be more unlike in character and ap- 
pearance than my host and the North Carolinian, they 
were warm and intimate friends. 

" So, Moye has been raising h — 11 gin'rally, Colonel," 
said my new acquaintance after a time. " I'm not sur- 
prised. 1 never did b'lieve in Yankee nigger-drivers — 
sumhow it's agin natur' for a Northern man to go South- 
ern principles quite so strong as Moye did." 

" Winch route do you think he has taken ?" asked 
the Colonel. 

" Wal, I reckon arter he tuk to the run, he made fur 
the mountings. He know'd you'd head him on the 
travelled routes; so he's put, I think, fur the Missussippe, 
where he'll sell the horse and make North." 

" I'll follow him," said the Colonel, " to the ends of 
the earth. If it costs me five thousand dollars, I'll see 
him hung." 

" Wal," replied Andy, laughing, "if he's gone North 
youll need a extradition treaty to kotch him. South 
Car'lina, I b'lieve, has set up fur a furrin country." 

" That's true," said the Colonel, also laughing, " she's 
"furrin" to the Yankees, but not to the old North 

" D d if she haint," replied the North Carolinian, 

" and now she's got out. % on our company, I swear she 
must keep out. We'd as soon think of goin' to h — 11 in 
summer time, as of jining partnership with her. Cun- 

nel, you'r the only decent man in the State — d d if 

you haint — and your politics are a'most bad 'nuff to 



spile a township. It allers seemed sort o'queei to me, 
that a man with such a mighty good heart as your'n, 
could be so short in the way of brains." 

"Well, you're complimentary," replied the Colonel, 
with the utmost good-nature, "but let's drop politics 
we never could agree, you know. What shall I dc 
about Moye ?" 

" Go to Wilmington and telegraph all creation : wait 
a day to har, then if you don't har, go home, hire a na- 
tive overseer, and let Moye go to the d 1. Ef it'I 

do you any good I'll go to Wilmington with you, 
though I did mean to give you Secesherners a little h — 
har to-morrer." 

" No, Andy, I'll go alone. 'Twouldn't be patriotic 
to take you away from the barbacue. You'd 1 spile 
if you couldn't let off some gas soon." 

"I do b'lieve I shud. Howsumdever, thar's nary a 
thing I wouldn't do for you — you knows that." 

"Yes, I do, and I wish you'd keep an eye on my 
Yankee friend here, and see he don't get into trouble 
with any of the boys — there'll be a hard set 'round, I 

" Wal, I will," said Andy, " but all he's to do is to 
keep his mouth shet." 

" That seems easy enough," I replied, laughing. 

A desultory conversation followed for about an hour 
when the steam-whistle sounded, and the. up-train ar 
rived. The Colonel got on board and bidding us 
"good-night," went on to Wilmington. Andy then 



proposed we should look up sleeping accommodations. 
It was useless to seek quarters at the hotel, but an 
empty car was on the turn-out, and bribing one of the 
negroes we got access to it, and were soon stretched at 
full length on two of its hard-bottomed seats. 




The camp-ground was about a mile from the station, 
and pleasantly situated in a grove, near a stream of 
water. It was in frequent use by the camp-meetings 
of the Methodist denomination — which sect at the South 
is partial to these rural religious gatherings. Scattered 
over it, with an effort at regularity, were about forty 
small but neat log cottages, thatched with the long leaves 
of the turpentine pine, and chinked with branches of the 
same tree. Each of these houses was floored with leaves 
or straw, and large enough to afford sleeping accommoda- 
tions for about ten persons, provided they spread their 
bedding on the ground, and lay tolerably close together. 
Interspersed among the cabins were about a dozen can- 
vas tents which had been erected for this especial oc- 

Nearly in the centre of the group of huts a rude sort 
of scaffold, four or five feet high, and surrounded by a 
rustic railing, served for the speaker's stand. It would 
seat about a dozen persons, and was protected by a roof 
of pine-boughs, interlaced together so as to keep off the 
sun, without affording protection from the rain. In the 
rear of this stand were two long tables, made of rough 


boards, and supported on stout joists, crossed on each 
other in the form of the letter X. A canopy of green 
leaves shaded the grounds, ^nd the whole grove, which 
was perfectly free from underbrush, was carpeted with 
the soft, brown tassels of the pine. 

Being fatigued with the ride of the previous day, I 
did not awake till the morning was far advanced, and 
it was nearly ten o'clock when Andy and I took our way 
to the camp-ground. Avoiding the usual route, we 
walked on through the forest. It was mid-winter, and 
vegetation lay dead all around us, awaiting the time 
when spring should breathe into it the breath of life, 
and make it a living thing. There was silence and rest 
in the deep woods. The birds were away on their win- 
ter wanderings ; the leaves hung motionless on the tall 
trees, and nature seemed resting from her ceaseless labors, 
and listening to the soft music of the little stream which 
sung a cheerful song as it rambled on over the roots and 
fallen branches that blocked its way. Soon a distant 
murmur arose, and w^e had not proceeded far before as 
many sounds as were heard at Babel made a strange 
concert about our ears. The lowing of the ox, the 
neighing of the horse, and the deep braying of another 
animal, mingled with a thousand human voices, came 
through the woods. But above and over all rose the 
stentorian tones of the stump speaker, 

" As he trod the shaky platform, 
With the sweat upon his brow." 

About a thousand persons were already assembled on 



the ground, and a more motley gathering I never wit- 
nessed. All sorts of costumes and all classes of people 
were there ; but the genuine back-woods corn-crackers 
composed the majority of the assemblage. As might be 
expected much the larger portion of the audience were 
men, still I saw some women and not a few children *, 
many of the country people having taken advantage of 
the occasion to give their families a holiday. Some oc- 
cupied benches in front of the stand, though a larger 
number were seated around in groups, within hearing of 
the speaker, but paying very little attention to what he 
was saying. A few were whittling — a few pitching 
quoits, or playing leap-frog, and quite a number were 
having a quiet game of whist, euchre or " seven-up." 

The speaker was a well-dressed, gentlemanly-looking 
man and a tolerably good orator. He seemed accus- 
tomed to addressing a jury, for he displayed all the adroit- 
ness in handling his subject, and in appealing to the 
prejudices of his hearers, that we see in successful spe- 
cial pleaders. But he overshot his mark. To nine out of 
ten of his audience, his words and similes, though cor- 
rect, and sometimes beautiful, were as unintelligible as 
the dead languages. He advocated immediate, uncondi- 
tional secession ; and I thought from the applause which 
met his remarks, whenever he seemed to make himself 
understood, that the large majority of those present 
were of the same way of thinking. 

He was succeeded by a heavy-browed, middle-aged 
man, slightly bent, and with hair a little turned to gray, 



but still hale, athletic, and in the prime and vigor of 
manhood. His pantaloons and waistcoat were of the com- 
mon homespun, and he used, now and then, a word ot 
the country dialect, but as a stump-speaker he was in- 
finitely superior to the more polished orator who had 
2>receded him. 

He, too, advocated secession, as a right and a duty — 
separation, now and forever, from the dirt-eating, money- 
loving Yankees, who, he was ashamed to say, had the 
same ancestry, and worshipped the same God, as himself. 
He took the bold ground that slavery is a curse to both 
the black and the white, but that it was forced upon 
this generation before its birth, by these same greedy, 
grasping Yankees, who would sell not only the bones 
and sinews of their fellow men, but — worse than that — 
their own souls, for gold. It was forced upon them 
without their consent, and now that it had become inter- 
woven with all their social life, and was a necessity of 
their very existence, the hypocritical Yankees would 
take it from them, because, forsooth, it is a sin and a 
wrong — as if they had to bear its responsibility, or the 
South could not settle its own affairs with its Maker ! 

" Slavery is now," he continued, u indispensable to us. 
"Without it, cotton, rice, and sugar will cease to grow, 
and the South will starve. What if it works abuses ? 
What if the black, at times* is overburdened, and his 
wife and daughters ,debauched ? Man is not perfect 
anywhere — there are wrongs in every society. It is for 
each one to give his account, in such matters, to his God. 



But in this are we worse than they? Are there not 
abuses in society at the North? Are not their laborers 
overworked ? "While sin here hides itself under cover of 
the night, does it not there stalk abroad at noon-day? 
If the wives and daughters of blacks are debauched here, 
are not the wives and daughters of whites debauched 
there ? and will not a Yankee barter away the chastity 
of his own mother for a dirty dollar ? Who fill our 
brothels? Yankee women! Who load our peniten- 
tiaries, crowd our whipping-posts, debauch our slaves, 
and cheat and defraud us all ? Yankee men ! And I 
say unto you, fellow-citizens," and here the speaker's 
form seemed to dilate with the wild enthusiasm which 
possessed him, 'come out from among them; be ye 
separate, and touch not the unclean thing,' and thus 
saith the Lord God of Hosts, who will guide you, and 
lead you, if need be, to battle and to victory!" 

A perfect storm of applause followed. The assem- 
blage rose, and one long, wild shout rent the old wooda, 
and made the tall trees tremble. It was some minutes 
before the uproar subsided ; when it did, a voice near 
the speaker's stand called out, " Andy Jones!" The call 
was at once echoed by another voice, and soon a general 
shout for "Andy!" "Union Andy !" "Bully Andy!" went 
up from the same crowd which a moment before had so 
wildly applauded the secession speaker. 

Andy rose from where he was seated beside me, and 
quietly ascended the steps of the platform. Removing 
his hat, and passing to his mouth a huge quid of tobacco 



from a tin box in his pantaloons-pocket, he made several 
rapid strides up and down the speaker's stand, and then 
turned squarely to the audience. 

The reader has noticed a tiger pacing up and down in 
his cage, with his eyes riveted on the human faces before 
him. He has observed how he will single out some indi- 
vidual, and finally stopping short in his rounds, turn on 
him with a look of such intense ferocity as makes a man's 
blood stand still, and his very breath come thick and 
hard, as he momentarily expects the beast will tear away 
the bars of the cage and leap forth on the obnoxious per- 
son. Now, Andy's fine, open, manly face had nothing 
of the tiger in it, but, for a moment, I could not divest 
myself of the impression, as he halted in his walk up 
and down the stage, and turned full and square on the 
previous speaker — who had taken a seat among the audi- 
ence near me — that he was about to spring upon him. 
Riveting his eye on the man's face, he at last slowly said : 

"A man stands har and quotes Scriptur agin his 
feller man, and forgets that 'God made of one blood all 
nations that dwell on the face of the 'arth.' A man 
stands har and calls his brother a thief, and his mother 
a harlot, and axes us to go his doctrin's ! I don't 
mean his brother in the Scriptur sense, nor his mother 
in a fig' rative sense, but I mean the brother of his own 
blood, and the mother thatlfore him; for he, gentlemen 
(and he pointed his finger directly at the recent speaker, 
while his words came slow and heavy with intense scorn), 
he is a Yankee ! And now, I say, gentlemen, d — n sech 


doctrin's ; d n sech principles, and d n the man 

that's got a soul so black as to utter 'em !" 

A breathless silence fell on the assemblage, while the 
person alluded to sprang to his feet, his face on fire, and 
his voice thick and broken with intense rage, as he 

yelled out : " Andy Jones, by , you shall answer for 


" Sartin," said Andy, coolly inserting his thumbs in 
the armholes of his wa'istcoat ; " enywhar you likes — 
har — now — ef 'greeable to you." 

" I've no weapon here, sir, but I'll give you a chance 
mighty sudden," was the fierce reply. 

" Suit yourself," said Andy, with perfect imperturba- 
bility; "but as you haint jest ready, s'pose you set 
down, and har me tell 'bout your relations : they're a 
right decent set — them as I knows — and I'll swar 
they're 'shamed of you." 

A buzz went through the crowd, and a dozen voices 
called out : " Be civil, Andy"— " Let him blow"—" Shut 
up" — "Go in, Jones" — with other like elegant excla- 

A few of his friends took the aggrieved gentleman 
aside, and, soon quieting him, restored order. 

" Wal, gentlemen," resumed Andy, " all on you know 
whar I was raised — over thar in South Car'lina. I'm 
sorry to say it, but it's true. And you all know my 
father was a pore man, who couldn't give his boys no 
chance — and ef he could, thar warn't no schules in the 
district — so we couldn't hev got no book-larning ef we'd 


been a minded to. Wal, the next plantation to whar 

we lived was old Gunnel J 's, the father of this cun- 

nel. He was a d d old nullifier, jest like his son — 

but not half so decent a man. Wal, on his plantation 
was an old nigger called Uncle Pomp, who'd sumhow 
larned to read. He was a mighty good nigger, and he'd 
hev been in heaven long afore now ef the Lord hadn't r 
had sum good use for him down har — but he'll be thar 

yet a d d sight sooner than sum on us white folks — 

that's sartin. Wal, as I was saying, Pomp could read, 
and when I was 'bout sixteen, and had never seen the 
inside of a book, the old darky said to me one day — he 
was old then, and that was thirty years ago — wal, he 
said to me, 'Andy, chile, ye orter larn to read, 'twill 
be ob use to ye when you'se grow'd up, and it moight 
make you a good and 'spected man — now, come to ole 
Pomp's cabin, and he'll larn you, Andy, chile.' Wal, I 
reckon I went. He'd nothin' but a Bible and Watts' 
Hymns ; but we used to stay thar all the long winter 
evenin's, and by the light o' the fire — we war both so 
durned pore we couldn't raise a candle atween us — wal, 
by the light o' the fire he larned me, and fore long I 
could spell right smart. 

" Now, jest think on that, gentlemen. I, a white 
boy, and, 'cordin' to the Declaration of Independence, 
with jest as good blood in me as the old Cunnel had in 
him, bein' larned to read by an old slave, and that old 
slave a'most worked to death, and takin' his nights, 
when he orter hev been a restin' his old bones, to larn 



me ! I'm d d if lie don't get to heaven for that one 

thing, if for nothin' else. 

" Wal, you all know the rest — how, when I'd grow'd 
up, I settled har, in the old North State, and how the 
young Cunnel backed my paper, and set me a runnin' at 
turpentining. P'raps you don't think this has much to 
do with the Yankees, but it has a durned sight, as ye'll 
see rather sudden. Wal, arter a while, when I'd got a 
little forehanded, I begun shipping my truck to York^ 
and Bostin'; and at last my Yankee factor, he come out 
har, inter* the back woods, to see me, *and says he, 
* Jones, come North and take a look at us.' I'd sort o' 
took to him. I'd lots o' dealin's with him afore ever 
I seed him, and I allers found him straight as a shingle. 
Wal, I went North, and he took me round, and showed 
me how the Yankees does things. Afore I know'd him, 
I allers thought — as p'raps most on you do — that the 
Yankees war a sort o' cross atween the devil and a Jew; 
but how do you s'pose I found 'em ? I found that they 
sent the pore man's children to schule, fkee — and that 

the schule-houses war a d d sight thicker than the 

bugs in Miles Privett's beds ! and that's sayin' a heap, 
for ef eny on you kin sleep in his house, excep' he takes 

to the soft side of the floor, I'm d d. Yas, the pore 

man's children are larned thar, feee ! — all on 'em — and 
they've jest so good a chance as the sons of the rich 
man ! Now, arter that, do you think that I — as got all 
my schulein, from an old slave, by the light of a bor- 
rored pine-knot — der you think that Zkin say any thing 



agin the Yankees? PVaps they do steal — though I 
doant know it — p'r'aps they do debauch thar wives and 
darters, and sell thar mothers' vartue for dollars — but, 

ef they do, I'm d d if they doant send pore children 

to schule — and that's more'n we do — and let me tell you 
until we do thet, we must expec' they'll be cuter and 
smarter nor we are. 

"This gentleman, too, my friends, who's been a givm' 
rsech a hard settin' down ter his own relation, arter 
they've broughten him up, and given him sech a schulein 
for nuthin', he says the Yankees want to interfere with 
our niggers. Now, thet haint so, and they couldn't ef 
they would, 'case it's agin the Constertution. And 
they stand on the Constertution a durned sight solider 
nor we do. Didn't thar big gun — Daniel Webster — 
didn't he make mince-meat of South Car'lina Hayne on 
thet ar' subjec' ? But I tell you they haint a mind ter 
meddle with the niggers ; they're a goin' to let us go ter 
h — 1 our own way, and we're goin' thar mighty fast, or 
I haint read the last census." 

"PVaps you haint heerd on the aVlish'ners, Andy?" 
cried a voice from among the audience. 

" Wal, I reckon I hev," responded the orator. "I've 
heerd on 'em, and seed 'em, too. When I was North I 
went to one on thar conventions, and I'll tell you how 
they look. They've all long, wimmin's har, and thin, 
shet lips, with big, bawlin' mouths, and long, lean, 
tommerhawk faces, as white as vargin dip — and they all 
talk through the nose (giving a specimen), and they 



all look for all the world jest like the South Car'lina fire- 
eaters — and they are as near like 'em as two peas, excep' 
they don't swar quite so bad, but they make up for 
thet in prayin' — and prayin' too much, I reckon, when a 

man's a d d hippercrit, is 'bout as bad as swearin'. 

But, I tell you, the decent folks up North haint ablish- 
eners. They look on 'em jest as we do on mad dogs, 
the itch, or the niir^er traders. 

" Now, 'bout this secession bis'ness — though 'taint no 
use to talk on that subjec', 'case this state never'll se- 
cede — South Car'lina has done it, and I'm raather glad 
she has, for though I was born thar — and say it as 
hadn't orter say it — she orter hey gone to h — 1 long ago, 
and now she's got thar, why — let her stay! But, 'bout 
thet bis'ness, I'll tell you a story. 

"I know'd an old gentleman once by the name of 
Uncle Sam, and he'd a heap of sons. They war all likely 
boys — but strange ter tell, though they'd all the same 
mother, and she was a white woman, 'bout half on 'em 
war colored — not black, but sorter half-and-half. Now, 
the white sons war well-behaved, industrious, hard- 
svorkin' boys, who got 'long well, edicated thar chil- 
dren, and allers treated the old man decently ; but the 
mulatter fellers war a pesky set — though some on 'em 
war better nor others. They wouldn't work, but set up 
for airystocracy — rode in kerriges, kept fast horses, bet 
high, and chawed tobaccer like the devil. Wal, the re- 
sult was, they got out at the elbows, and 'case they 
warn't gettin' 'long quite so fast as the white 'uns— 



though that war all thar own fault — they got jealous, 
and one on 'em who was blacker nor all the rest — a 
little feller, but terrible big on braggin' — he packed up 
his truck one night, and left the old man's house, snd 
swore he'd never come back. He tried to make the 
other mulatters go with him, but they put thar fingers 
to thar nose, and says they, 'No you doant.' I was in 
favor of lettin' on him stay out in the cold, but the old 
man was a bernevolent old critter, and so he says : c Now, 
sonny, you jest come back and behave yourself, and I'll 
forgive you all your old pranks, and treat you jest as 1 
allers used ter ; but, ef you wont, why — I'll make you, 
thet's all!' 

"Now, gentlemen, thet quarrelsome, oneasy, ongrateful, 
tobaccer-chawin', hoss-racin', high-bettin', big-braggin', 
nigger-stealin', wimmin-whippin', yaller son of the devil, 
is South Car'lina, and ef she doant come back and be- 
have herself in futur', I'm d d ef she wont be ploughed 

with fire, and sowed with salt, and Andy Jones will help 
ter do it." 

The speaker was frequently interrupted in the course 
of his remarks by uproarious applause — but as he closed 
and descended from the platform, the crowd sent up 
cheer after cheer, and a dozen strong men, making a seat 
of their arms, lifted him from the ground and bore him off 
to the head of the table, where dinner was in waiting. 

The whole of the large assemblage then fell to eating. 
The dinner was made up of the barbacued beef and the 
usual mixture of viands found on a planter's table, with 



water from the little brook hard by, and a plentiful 
supply of corn-whiskey. (The latter beverage had, I 
thought, been subjected to the rite of immersion, for it 
tasted wonderfully of water.) 

Songs an d| speeches were intermingled with the masti- 
cating exercises, and the whole company was soon in 
the best of humor. 

During the meal I was introduced by Andy to a large 
number of the " natives," he taking special pains to tell 
each one that I was a Yankee, and a Union man, but al- 
ways adding, as if to conciliate all parties, that I also 
was a guest and a friend of his very particular friend, 
"thet'd d seceshener, Gunnel J 

Before we left the table, the secession orator happen- 
ing near where we were seated, Andy rose from his seat, 
and, extending his hand to him, said : " Tom, you think 
I 'suited you ; p'r'aps I did, but you 'suited my Yankee 
friend har, and your own relation, and I hed to take it 
up, jest for the looks o' the thing. Come, there's my 
hand ; I'll fight you ef you want ter, or we'll say no more 
'bout it — jest as you like." 

" Say no more about it, Andy," said the gentleman, 
very cordially; "let's drink and be friends." 

They drank a glass of whiskey together, and then 
leaving the table, proceeded to where the ox had been 
barbacued, to show me how cooking on a large scale is 
done at the South. 

In a pit about eight feet deep, twenty feet long, and 
ten feet wide, laid up on the sides with stones, a fire of 



hickory had been made, over which, after the wood had 
burned down to coals, a whole ox, divested of its hide 
and entrails, had been suspended on an enormous spit. 
Being turned often in the process of cooking, the beef 
had finally been "done brown." It was then cut up 
and served on the table, and I must say, for the credit 
of Southern cookery, that it made as delicious eating as 
any meat I ever tasted. 

I had then been away from my charge — the Colonel's 
horses — as long as seemed to be prudent. I said as * 
much to Andy, when he proposed to return with me, 
and, turning good-humoredly to his reconciled friend, he 
said: "Now, Tom, no secession talk while I'm off." 

"Nary a word," said "Tom," and we left. 

The horses had been well fed by the negro whom I 
had left in charge of them, but had not been groomed. 
Seeing that, Andy stripped off his coat, and setting the 
black at work on one, with a handful of straw and pine 
leaves, commenced operations on the other, whose hair 
was soon as smooth and glossy as if it had been rubbed 
by an English groom. 

The remainder of the day passed without incident 
till eleven at night, when the Colonel returned from 





Moye had not been seen or heard of, and the Colonel's 
trip was fruitless. While at Wilmington he sent tele- 
grams, directing the overseer's arrest, to the various 
large cities of the South, and then decided to return 
home, make arrangements preliminary to a protracted 
absence from the plantation, and proceed at once to 
Charleston, where he would await replies to his dis- 
patches. Andy agreed with him in the opinion that 
Moye, in his weak state of health, would not take an 
overland route to the free states, but would endeavor 
to reach some town on the Mississippi, where he might 
dispose of the horse, and secure a passage up the river. 

As no time was to be lost, we decided to return to 
the plantation on the following morning. Accordingly, 
with the first streak of day we bade " good-bye" to our 
Union friend, and started homeward. 

No incident worthy of mention occurred on the way, 
till about ten o'clock, when we arrived at the house of 
the Yankee schoolmistress, where we had been so hos- 
pitably entertained two days before. The lady received 
us with great cordiality, forced upon us a lunch to serve 
our hunger on the road, and when we parted, enjoined 
on me to leave the South at the earliest possible mo- 



ment. She was satisfied it would not for a much longer 
time be safe quarters for a man professing Union senti- 
ments. Not withstanding the strong manifestations of 
loyalty I had observed among the people, I was con- 
vinced the advice of my pretty " countrywoman" was 
judicious, and I determined to be governed by it. 

Our horses, unaccustomed to lengthy journeys, had 
not entirely recovered from the fatigues of their previ- 
ous travel, and we did not reach our destination till an 
hour after dark. We were most cordially welcomed by 

Madam P , who soon set before us a hot supper, 

which, as we were jaded by the long ride, and had fast- 
ed for twelve hours, on bacon-sandwiches and cold hoe- 
cake, was the one thing needful to us. 

While seated at the table the Colonel asked : 
"Has every thing gone right, Alice, since we left 
home ?" 

" Every thing," replied the lady, " except" — and she 
hesitated, as if she dreaded the effect of the news ; " ex- 
cept that Julie and her child have gone." 

"Gone!" exclaimed my host; "gone where?" 

"I don't know. We have searched everywhere, but 
have found no clue to them. The morning you left 
Sam set Jule at work among the pines ; she tried hard, 
but could not do a full task, and at night was taken to 
the cabin to be whipped. I heard of it, and forbade it. 
It did not seem to me that she ought to be punished for 
not doing what she had not strength to do. When re- 
leased from the cabin, she came and thanked me for 



havino- interfered for her, and talked with me awhile. 
She cried and took on fearfully about Sam, and was 
afraid you would punish her when you returned. I 
promised you would not, and she left me seeming more 
cheerful. I supposed she would go directly home after 
getting her child from the nurse's quarters ; but it ap- 
pears she went to Pompey's, where she staid till after 
ten o'clock. Neither she nor the child have been seen 

" Did you get no trace of her in the morning ?" 

" Yes, but soon lost it. When she did not appear at 
work, Sam went to her cabin to learn the cause, and 
found the door open, and her bed undisturbed. She had 
not slept there. Knowing that Sandy had returned, I 
sent for him, and, with Jim and his dog, he commenced 
a search. The dog tracked her directly from Pompey'g 
cabin to the bank of the run near the lower still. There 
all trace of her disappeared. We dragged the stream, 
but discovered nothing. Jim and Sandy then scoured 
the woods for miles in all directions, but the hound could 
not recover the trail. I hope otherwise, but I fear some 
evil has befallen her." 

" Oh, no ! there's no fear of that," said the Colonel : 
" she is smart : she waded up the run far enough to baf- 
fle the dog, and then made for the swamp. That is 
why you lost her tracks at the stream. Rely upon it, 
I am right : but she shall not escape me." 

WV shortly afterward adjourned to the library. Af- 
ter being seated there a while the Colonel, rising quickly, 


as if a sudden thought had struck him, sent for the old 

The old negro soon appeared, hat in hand, and taking 
a stand near the door, made a respectful bow to each 
one of us. s 

" Take a chair, Pompey," said Madam P , kindly. 

The black meekly seated himself, when the Colonel 
asked : " Well, Pomp, what do you know about Jule's 
going off?" 

" Muffin', massa — I shures you, nuffin'. De pore chile 
say nuffin to ole Pomp 'bout dat." 
" What did she say ?" 

" Wal, you see, massa, de night arter you gwo 'way, 
and arter she'd worked hard in de brush all de day, and 
been a strung up in de ole cabin fur to be whipped, she 
come ter me wid har baby in har arms, all a-faint and 
a-tired, and har pore heart clean broke, and she say dat 
she'm jess ready ter drop down and die. Den I tries ter 
comfut har, massa ; I takes har up from de floor, and I 
say ter har dat de good Lord He pity har — dat He woant 
bruise de broken reed, and woant put no more on her 
dan she kin b'ar — dat He'd touch you' heart, and I 
toled har you'se a good, kine heart at de bottom, massa 
— and I knows it, 'case I toted you 'fore you could gwo, 
and when you's a bery little chile, not no great sight 
bigger'n har'n, you'd put your little arms round ole 
Pomp's neck, and say dat when you war grow'd up 
you'd be bery kine ter de pore brack folks, and not leff 
'em be 'bused like dey war in dem days." 


" N*ever mind what you said," interrupted the Colonel, 
a little impatiently, but showing no displeasure; "what 
did she say ?" 

"Wal, massa, she tuk on bery hard 'bout Sam, and 
axed me ef I raaily reckoned de Lord had forgiVn him, 
and took'n him ter Heself, and gibin' him one o' dem 
hous'n up dar, in de sky. I toled her dat I Jcnovfd it ; 
but she say it didn't 'pear so ter har, 'case Sam had a 
been wid har out dar in de woods, all fru de day ; dat 
she'd a seed him, massa, and dough he handn't a said 
nuffin', he'd lukd at har wid sech a sorry, grebed Ink, 
dat it gwo clean fru har heart, till she'd no strength leff, 
and fall down on de ground a'most dead. Den she say 
big Sam come 'long and fine har dar, and struck har 
great, heaby blows wid de big whip !" 

" The brute !" exclaimed the Colonel, rising from his 
chair, and pacing rapidly up and down the room. 

" But pYaps he warn't so much ter blame, massa," 
continued the old negro, in a deprecatory tone ; " may- 
be he 'spose she war shifkin' de work. Waij den she say 
she know'd nuffin' more, till byme-by, when she come 
to, and fine big Sam dar, and he struck har agin, and 
make har gwo ter de work ; and she did gwo, but she 
feel like as ef she'd die.' I toled har de good ma'am 
wudn't leff big Sam 'buse har no more 'fore you cum 
hum, and dat you'd hab 'passion on har, and not leff har 
gwo out in de woods, but put har 'mong de nusses, like 
as afore. 

"Den she say it 'twarn't de work dat trubble har — ■ 



dat she orter'work, and orter be 'bused, 'case she'd been 
bad, beiy bad. All she axed war dat Sam would forgib 
har, and cum to har in de oder worle, and tell har so. 
Den she cried, and tuk on awful ; but de good Lord, 
massa, dat am so bery kine ter de bery wuss sinners, He 
put de words inter my mouf, aifd I tink dey gib har 
comfut, fur she say dat it sort o' 'peared to har den dat 
Sam would forgib har, and take har inter his house up^ 
dar, and she warn't afeard ter die no more. 

" Den she takes up de chile and gwo 'way, 'pearin' 
sort o' happy, and more cheerful like dan I'd a seed har 
eber sense pore Sam war shot." 

My host was sensibly affected by the old man's* simple 
tale, but continued pacing up and down the room, and 
said nothing. . 

" It's plain to me, Colonel," I remarked, as Pompey 
concluded, " she has drowned herself and the child — the 
dog lost the scent at the creek." 

" Oh, no !" he replied; "I think not. I never heard 
of a negro committing suicide — they've not the courage 
to do it." 

" I fear she has, David," said the lady. " The thought 
of going to Sam has led her to it ; yet, we dragged the 
run, and found nothing. What do you think about it, 
Pompey ?" 

"I dunno, ma'am, but I'se afeard of dat; and now 
dat I tinks ob it, I'se afeard dat what I tole har put har 
up ter it," replied the old preacher, bursting into tears. 
"She 'peared so happy like, when I say she'd be 'long 



wid Sam in de oder worle, dat Pse afeard she's a gone 
and done it wid liar own hands. I tole har, too, dat de 
Lord would oberlook good many tings dat pore sinners 
do when dey can't help 'emselfs — and it make har do it ! 
Oh ! it make har do it !" and the old black buried his face 
in his hands, and wept bitterly. 

" Don't feel so, Pomp," said his master, very kindly. 
M You did the best you could ; no one blames you." 

" I knows you doant, massa — I knows you doant, and 
you'se bery good nottur — but oh ! massa, de Lord!" and 
his body swayed to and fro w r ith the great grief; "I 
fears de Lord do, massa, for I'se sent har ter Him wid 
har own blood, and de blood of dat pore innercent chile, 
on har hands. Oh, I fears de Lord neber'll forgib me — 
neber'll forgib me for datP 

" He will, my good Pomp — He will!" said the Colonel, 
laying his hand tenderly on the old man's shoulder. 
" The Lord will forgive you, for the sake of the Chris- 
tian example you've set your master, if for nothing else;" 
and here the proud, strong man's feelings overpowering 
him, his tears fell in great drops on the breast of the 
old slave, as they had fallen there in his childhood. 

Such scenes are not for the eye of a stranger, and 
turning away, I left the room. 





The family met at the breakfast-table at the usual 
hour on the following morning ; but I noticed that Jim 
was not in his accustomed place behind the Colonel's 
chair. That gentleman exhibited his usual good spirits, 

but Madam P looked sad and anxious, and Zhad 

not forgotten the scene of the previous evening. 

"While we were seated at the meal, the negro Junius 
hastily entered the room, and in an excited manner ex- 
claimed : 

" Oh, massa, massa, you muss cum ter de cabin — Jim 
hab draw'd his knife, and he swar he'll kill de fuss 'un 
dat touch him !" 

"He does, does he!" said his master, springing from 
his seat, and abruptly leaving the apartment. 

Remembering the fierce burst of passion I had seen in 
the negro, and fearing there was danger a-foot, I rose to 
follow, saying, as I did so : 

" Madam, cannot you prevent this ?" 

" I cannot, sir ; I have already done all I can. Go and 
try to pacify the Colonel — Jim will die before he'll be 


Jim was standing at tlie farther end of the old cabin., 
with his back to the wall, and the large spring knife in 
his hand. Some half-dozen negroes were in the centre 
of the room, apparently cowed by his fierce and desper- 
ate looks, and his master was within a few feet of him. 

" I tell you, Gunnel," cried the negro, as I entered, 
"you touch me at your peril!" 

"You d d nigger, do you dare to speak so to me?" 

said his master, taking a step toward him. 

The knife rose in the air, and the black, in a cool, 
sneering tone, replied: " Say your prayers 'fore you come 
nigher, for, so help me God, you'm a dead man !" 

I laid my hand on the Colonel's arm, to draw him 
back, saying, as I did so: "There's danger in him! I 
knoio it. Let him go, and he shall ask your pardon." 

"I shan't ax his pardon," cried the black; "leff him 
an' me be, sir ; we'll fix dis ourselfs." 

u Don't interfere, Mr. K ," said my host, with per- 
fect coolness, but with a face pallid with rage. " Let me 
govern my own plantation." 

"As you say, sir," I replied, stepping back a few 
paces ; " but I warn you — there is danger in him !" 

Taking no notice of my remark, the Colonel turning 
to the trembling negroes, said : " One of you go to the 
house and bring my pistols." 

"You kin shoot me, ef you likes," said Jim, with a 
fierce, grim smile ; " but I'll take you ter h — 1 wid me, 
shore. You knows we wont stand a blow !" 

The Colonel, at the allusion to their relationship, 



started as if shot, and turning furiously on the negro, 

yelled out: "I'll shoot you for that, you d d nigger, 


" It 'pears ter me, Gunnel, ye've hed 'bout nuff shoot- 
in' round har, lately ; better stop thet sort o' bis'ness ; 
it moight give ye a sore throat," said the long, lean, 
loose-jointed stump-speaker of the previous Sunday, as 
he entered the cabin and strode directly up to my 

" What brought you here, you d d insolent hound ?" 

cried the Colonel, turning fiercely on the new-comer. 

" Wal, I cum ter du ye a naaboorly turn — I've kotched 
two on yer niggers down ter my still, and I want ye 
ter take 'em 'way," returned the corn-cracker, with the 
utmost coolness. 

" Two of my niggers !" exclaimed the Colonel, per- 
ceptibly moderating his tone — "which ones?" 

" A yaller gal, and a chile." 

"I thank you, Barnes; excuse my hard words — I was 

"All right, Cunnel; say no more 'bout thet. Will 
ye send fur 'em? I'd hev fotched 'em 'long, but my 
waggin's off jest now." 

"Yes, I'll send at once. Have you got them safe?" 

" Safe ? I reckon so ! Kotched 'em last night, arter 
dark, and they've kept right still ever sense, I 'sure ye — 
but th' gal holds on ter th' young 'un ter kill — we cudn't 
get it 'way no how." 

" How did you catch them?" 


44 They got 'gainst my turpenthne raft — the curren' 
driv 'em clown, I s'pose." 
M What ! are they dead ?" 

"Dead? deader'n drownded rats !" rephed the native, 

"My God! drowned herself and her child!" exclaim- 
ed the Colonel, with deep emotion. 

" It is terrible, my friend. Come, let us go to them, 
at once," I said, laying my hand on his arm, and draw- 
ing him unresistingly away 

A pair of mules was speedily harnessed to a large 
turpentine wagon, and the horses we had ridden the day 
before were soon at the door. When the Colonel, 
who had been closeted for a few minutes with Madam 

P , came out of the house, we mounted, and rode off 

with the " corn-cracker." 

The native's farm was located on the stream which 
watered my friend's plantation, and was about ten miles 
distant. Taking a by-road which led to it through the 
woods, we rode rapidly on in advance of the wagon. 

" Sort o' likely gal, thet, warn't she ?" remarked the 
turpentine-maker, after a while. 

"Yes, she was," rephed the Colonel, in a half-ab- 
stracted manner ; " very likely." 

" Kill harself 'case har man war shot by thet han'som 
overseer uv your n ? M 

" Not altogether for that, I reckon," replied my host ; 
" I fear the main reason was her being put at field-work, 
and abused by the driver." 

" Thet comes uv not lookin' arter things yerself, Cun- 



nel. I tend ter my niggers parsonally, and they keer a 
durned sigLt more fur this world then fur kingdom-cum. 
Ye cudn't hire 'em ter kill 'emselves fur no price." 

"Well," replied the Colonel, in a low tone, "I did 
look after her. I put her at full field-work, myself!" 

a By !" cried the native, reining his horse to a 

dead stop, and speaking in an excited manner : " I doant 

b'lieve it — 'taint 'tall like ye — yer a d d seceshener; 

thet comes uv yer bringin'-up — but yeVe a soul bigger'n 
a meetin'-house, and ye cudn't hev put thet slim, weak- 
ly gal inter th' woods, no how !" 

The Colonel and I instinctively halted our horses, as 
the " corn-cracker" stopped his, and were then standing 
abreast of him in the road. 

"It's true, Barnes," said my host, in a voice that 
showed deep dejection ; " I did do it !" 

"May God Almighty forgive ye, Cunnel," said the 
native, starting his horse forward ; "Zwudn't hev dun 
it fur all yer niggers, by ." 

The Colonel made no reply, and we rode on the rest 
of the way in silence. 

The road was a mere wagon-track through the 
trees, and it being but little travelled, and # encumbered 
with the roots and stumps of the pine, our progress was 
slow, and we were nearly two hours in reaching the 
plantation of the native. 

The corn-cracker's house — a low, unpainted wooden 
building — stood near the little stream, and in the centre 
of a cleared plot of some ten acres, v This plot was bur- 

"one more unfortunate." 


rounded by a post-and-rail fence, and in its front portion 
was a garden, which grew a sufficient supply of vege- 
tables to serve a family of twenty persons. In the rear, 
and at the sides of the dwelling, were about seven acres, 
devoted mainly to corn and potatoes. In one corner of 
the lot were three tidy-looking negro-houses, and close 
beside them I noticed a low shed, near which a large 
quantity of the stalks of the tall, white corn, common 
to that section, was stacked in the New England fashion. 
Browsing on the corn-stalks were three sleek, well-kept 
milch cows, and a goat. 

About four hundred yards from the farmer's house, 
and on the bank of the little run, which there was 
quite wide and deep, stood a turpentine distillery ; and 
around it were scattered a large number of rosin and 
turpentine barrels, some filled and some empty. A short 
distance higher up, and far enough from the " still" to be 
safe in the event of a fire, was a long, low, wooden shed, 
covered with rough, unjointed boards, placed upright, 
and unbattened. This was the " spirit-house," used for 
the storage of the spirits of turpentine when barrelled 
for market, and awaiting shipment. In the creek, and 
filling nearly one-half of the channel in front of the 
spirit-shed, was a raft of pine timber, on which were 
laden some two hundred barrels of rosin. On such rude 
conveyances the turpentine-maker sent his produce to 
Conwayboro'. There the timber-raft was sold to my way- 
side friend, Captain B , and its freight shipped on 

board vessel for New York. 



Two "prime* 1 negro men, dressed in the usual cos- 
tume, were " tending the still ;" and a negro woman, as 
stout and strong as the men, and clad in a short, loose, 
linsey gown, from beneath which peeped out a pair of 
coarse leggins, was adjusting a long wooden trough, 
which conveyed the liquid rosin from the "still" to a 
deep excavation in the earth, at a short distance. In 
the pit was a quantity of rosin sufficient to fill a thousand 

"Here, Bill," said Barnes to one of the negro men, as 
•we pulled up at the distillery, " put these critters up, 
and give 'em sum oats, and when they've cooled off a 
bit, water 'em." 

" Yas, yas, massa," replied the negro, springing nim- 
bly forward, and taking the horses by the bridles, " an' 
rub 'em down, massa?" 

"Yas, rub 'em down right smart," replied the corn- 
cracker; then turning to me, as we dismounted, he said: 
"Stranger, thet's th' sort o' niggers fur ye; all uv mine 
ar' jess like him — smart anclf lively as kittens." 

" He does seem to go about his work cheerfully," I 

" Cheerfully ! d d ef he doant — all on 'em du ! 

They like me better'n thar own young 'uns, an' it's 'cause 
I use 'em like human bein's ;" and he looked slyly to- 
ward the Colonel, w r ho just then was walking silently 
away, in the direction of the run, as if in search of the 
.-rowned "chattels." 

" Not thar, Cunnel," cried the native ; " they're inter 



th' shed ;" and he started to lead the way to the " spirit- 

" Not now, Barnes," I said, putting my hand on his 
arm : " leave him alone for a little while. He is feeling 
badly, and we'd better not disturb him just yet." 

The native motioned me to a seat on a- rosin-barrel, 
as he replied : 

"Wal, he 'pears ter — thet's a fact, and he orter. 

D d ef it arn't wicked to use niggers like cattle, as 

he do." 

" I don't think he means to ill-treat them — he's a kind- 
hearted man." 

" Wal, he ar sort o' so ; but he's left ev'ry thing ter 

thet d d overseer uv his'n. I wudn't ha' trusted 

him to feed my hogs." 

" Hogs !" I exclaimed, laughing ; " I supposed you 
didn't feed hogs in these diggins. I supposed you 1 let 
'em run.' " 

" I doant ; an' I've got th' tallest porky s round 

" I've been told that they get a good living in the 

" Wal, p'r'aps the' du jest make eout ter live thar; but 
my ole 'oman likes 'em ter hum — they clean up a place 
like — eat up all th' leavin's, an' give th' young nigs 
suthin' ter du." 

" It seems to me," I said, resuming the previous thread 
of the conversation ; u that overseers are a necessity 
on a large plantation." 



" Wal, the' ar*, an' thet's why thar orient ter be no big 
plantations ; God Almighty didn't make human bein's 
ter be herded togethar in th' woods like hogs. No man 
orter ter hev more'n twenty on 'em — he can't look arter 
no more himself, an' its agin natur ter set a feller over 'em 
what hain't no int'rest in 'em, an' no feelin' fur 'em, an' 
who'll drive 'em round like brutes. I never struck one 
on 'em in my life, an' my ten du more'n ony fifteen th 7 
Cunnel's got." 

" I thought they needed occasional correction. How 
do you manage them without whipping ?" 

"Manage them! why 'cordin' ter scriptur — do ter 'em 
as I'd like ter be dun ter, ef I war a nigger. Every one 
on 'em knows I'd part with my last shirt, an' live on 
taters an' cow-fodder, fore I'd sell em ; an' then I give 
'em Saturdays for 'emselfs — but thet's cute dealin' in me 
(tho' th' pore, simple souls doant gee it), fur ye knows 
the' work thet day for 'emselfs, an,' raise nigh all thar 
own feed, 'cept th' beef and whiskey — an' it sort o' 
makes 'em feel like folks, too, more like as ef the' war 
free — the' work th' better fur it aT th' week." 

/'Then you think the blacks would work better if 

" In course I ,does — its agin man's natur to be a slave. 
Thet lousy parson ye herd ter meetin, a Sunday, makes 
slavery eout a divine institooshun, but my wife's a Bible 

'oman, and she says 'taint so ; an' I'm d d ef she aru't 


" Is your wife a South Carolina women ?" 

"one more unfortunate." 


" No, she #n' me's from th' old North — old Car'tret, 
nigh on ter Newbera; an' we doant take nat'rally to 
the? ^ fire-eaters." 

" Have you been here long ?" 

"Wal, nigh on ter six yar. I cum har with nuthin' 
but a thousan' ter my back- — slapped thet inter fifteen 
hun'red acres — paid it down — and then hired ten likely, 
North Carolina niggers — hired 'em with th' chance uv 
buyin' ef the' liked eout har. Wal, th' nigs all know'd 
me, and the' sprung ter it like blazes ; so every yar I've 
managed ter buy two on 'em, and now I've ten grow'd 
up, and thar young 'uns ; th' still and all th' traps paid 

fur, an' ef this d d secesh bis'ness hadn't a come 

'long, I'd hev hed a right smart chance o' doin' well." 

" I'm satisfied secession will ruin the turpentine busi- 
ness ; you'll be shut up here, unable to sell your produce, 
and it will go to waste." 

u Thet's my 'pinion ; but I reckon I kin' manage now 
witheout turpentime. I've talked it over 'long with my 
nigs, and we kalkerlate, ef these ar doin's go eny fur- 
der, ter tap no more trees, but clar land an' go ter raisin' 

" What ! do you talk politics with your negroes ?" 

"Nary a politic — but I'm d d ef th' critters doan't 

larn 'em sumliow; the' knows 'bout as much uv what's 
goin' on as I du — but plantin arn't politics ; its bisness, 
an' they've more int'rest in it nor I hev, 'cause they've 
sixteen mouths ter feed agin my four." 

" I'm glad, my friend, that you treat them like anen : 



but I have supposed they were not well enough informed 
to have intelligent opinions on such subjects." 

" Informed ! wal, I reckon the' is ; all uv mine kin 
read, an' sum on 'em kin write, too. D'ye see thet 
little nig thar ?" pointing to a juvenile coal-black darky 
of about six years, who was standing before the "still" 
fire; a thet ar little devil kin rSad an' speak like a par- 
son. He's got hold, sumhow, uv my little gal's book 
o' pieces, an' larned a dozen on 'em. I make him cum 
inter th' house, once in a while uv an evenin', an 
speechify, an' 'twould do yer soul good ter har him, in 
his shirt tail, with a old sheet wound round him fur 
a toger (I've told him th' play-act ers du it so down ter 
Charles'on), an' spoutin' out : 'My name am Norval ; on 
de Gruntin' hills my fader feed him hogs !' The little 
coon never seed a sheep, an' my wife's told him a flock's 
a herd, an' he thinks c hog' sounds better'n ' flock,' so, 
contra'y ter th' book, he puts in ' hogs,' and hogs, you 
knows, hev ter grunt, so he gits 'em on th' ' Gruntin 
hills ;" and here the kind-hearted native burst into a fit 
of uproarious laughter, in which, in spite of myself, I had 
to join. 

"When the merriment had somewhat subsided, the 
turpentine-maker called out to the little darky : 
" Come here, Jim." 

The young chattel ran to him with alacrity, and 
wedging in between his legs, placed his little black hands, 
in a free-and-easy way, on his master's knees, and, look- 
ing up trustfully in his face, said : 

"ONE more uotortunate." 


" Wal, massa ?" 

" What's yer name ?" 

" Dandy Jim, massa." 

"Thet arn't all— what's th' rest?" 

" Dandy Jim of ole Car'lina." 

" Who made ye ?" 

" De good God, massa." 

" No, He didn't : God doant make little nigs. He 
makes none but white folks ;" said the master, laughing. 

" Yas He'm do ; Missus say He'm do ; dat He make 
dis nig jess like He done little Totty." 

" Wal, He did, Jim. I'm d d ef He didn't, fur 

nobody else ciid make ye!" replied the man, patting the 
little woolly head with undisguised affection. 

" Now, Jim, say th' creed fur ' de gemman.' " 

The young darky then repeated the Apostle's Creed 
and the Ten Commandments. 

" Is thet all ye knows ?" 

"No, massa, I knows a heap 'sides dat." 

"Wal, say suthin' more — sum on 'em pieces thet 

The little fellow then repeated with entire correctness, 
and with appropriate gestures, and emphasis, though in 
the genuine darky dialect — which seems to be inborn 
with the pure-Southern black — Mrs. Hemans' poem : 

M The boy stood on the burning deck." 

"Mrs. Hemans draped in black!" I exclaimed, laughing 
heartily : " How would the good lady feel, could she look 


down from where she is, and hear a little darky doing 
lip her poetry in that style?" 

" D d ef I doant b'lieve 'twud make her love th' 

little nig like I do;" replied the corn-cracker, taking 
him np on his knee as tenderly as he would have taken 
up his own child. 

" Tell me, my little man," I said : " who taught you 
all these things ?" 

u I larned 'em, myseff, sar," was the prompt reply. 

"You learned them, yourself! but who taught you 
to read ?" 

" I larned 'em myseff, sar !" 

" You couldn't have learned that yourself; didn't your 
1 massa' teach you ?" 
« No, sar." 

" Oh ! your ( missus' did." 
"No, sar." 

" No, sar !" I repeated ; then suspecting the real state 
of the case, I looked him sternly in the eye, and said : 
" My little man, it's wrong to tell lies — you must always 
speak the truth ; now, tell me truly, did not your c mis- 
sus' teach you these things ?" 

" No, sar, I larned 'em myseff." 

"Ye can't cum it, Stranger; ye moight roast him 
over a slow fire, an' not git nary a thing eout on hhn but 
thet," said- the corn-cracker, leaning forward, and break- 
ing into a boisterous fit of laughter. "It's agin th' 

law, an' I'm d d of I teached him. Reckon he did 

larn himself!" 



" I must know your wife, my friend. She's a good 

"Good! ye kin bet high on thet; she's uv th' stuff 
th' Lord makes angels eout on." 

I had no doubt of it, and was about to say so, when 
the Colonel's turpentine wagon drove up, and I remem- 
bered I had left him too long alone. 

The coachman was driving, and Jim sat on the wagon 
beside him. 

"Massa K ," said the latter, getting down and 

coining to me : " YvHiar am dey ?" 
" In the spirit-shed." 

He was turning to go there, when I called him back, 
saying: " Jim, you must not see your master now; you'd 
better keep out of sight for the present." 

" No, massa ; de ma'am say de Cunnel take dis bery 
hard, and dat I orter tell him I'se sorry for what I'se 

" Well, wait a while. Let me go in first." 

Accompanied by the. corn-cracker, I entered the tur- 
pentine-shed. A row of spirit-barrels were ranged 
along each of its sides, and two tiers occupied the centre 
of the building. On these a number of loose planks 
were placed, and on the planks lay the bodies of the 
metif woman and her child. The Colonel was seated on 
a barrel near them, with his head resting on his hands, 
and his eyes fixed on the ground. He did not seem to 
notice our entrance, and, passing him without speak- 
ing, I stepped to the side of the dead. 



The woman's dress, the common linsey gown worn by 
her class, was still wet, and her short, kinky, brown hair 
fell in matted folds around her face. One arm hung 
loosely by her side ; the other was clasped tightly around 
her child, which lay as if asleep on her bosom. One ot 
its small hands clung to its mother's breast, and around 
its little Hps played a smile. But how shall I describe 
the pale, sweet beauty of the face of the drowned girl, as 
she lay there, her eyes closed, and her lips parted, as in 
prayer ? Never but once have I seen on human features 
the strange radiance that shone upon it, or the mingled 
expression of hope, and peace, and resignation that rested 
there — and that was in the long-gone time, when, stand- 
ing by her bedside, I watched the passing away of one 
who is now an angel in heaven ! 

" Come, my dear friend, let us go," I said, turning 
and gently taking the Colonel by the arm, " the negroes 
are here, and will take charge of the dead." 

" No, no !" he replied, rising, and looking around, as 
if aroused from a troubled dream; "that is for me to 
do !" Then he added, after a moment's pause, " Will 
you help me to get them into the wagon ?" 

"Yes, I will, certainly." 

He made one step toward the body of the dead girl, 
then sinking down again on the barrel, covered his face 
with his hands, and cried out: "My God! this is terri- 
ble! Did you ever see such a look as that? It will 
haunt me forever !" 

" Come, my friend, rouse yourself — this is weakness ; 

"one moke unfortunate." 


you are tired with the long ride and excitement of the 
past few days. Come, go home — I will look after them." 

" ]STo, no ! I must do it. I will be a man again and 
he rose and walked steadily to the dead bodies. " Is 
there any one here to help ?" he asked. 

Jim was standing in the door-way, and I motioned to 
him to come forward. The great tears were streaming 
down his face as he stepped timidly towards his master, 
and said : " I'll do dis, massa, don't you trubble yerself 
no more." 

" It's good of you, Jim. You'll forgive me for being 
so cruel to you, wont you P" said the Colonel, taking the 
black by the hand. 

"Forgib ye, massa! 7" war all ter blame — but ye'll 
forgib me, massa — ye'll forgib me !" cried the black, with 
strong emotion. 

"Yes, yes; but say no more about it. Come, let us 
get Julie home." 

But the poor girl was already home — home where her 
sufferings and her sorrows were over, and all her tears 
were wiped away forever ! 

We four bore away the mother and the child. A 
number of blankets were in the bottom of the wagon, 
and we laid the bodies carefully upon them. When all 
seemed ready, the Colonel, who was still standing by 
the side of the dead, turned to my new friend, and said : 
"Barnes, will you loan me a pillow? I will send it 
back to-night." 

" Sartin, Cunnel and the farmer soon brought one 



from the house. Lifting tenderly the head of the 
drowned girl, the Colonel placed it beneath her, and 
smoothing back her tangled hair, he gently covered her 
face with his handkerchief, as if she could still feel his 
kindness, or longer cared for the pity or the love of 
mortal. Yet, who knows but that her parted soul, from 
the high realm to which it had soared, may not then have 
looked down, have seen that act, and have forgiven him ! 






In the first moments of grief the sympathy of friends, 
and the words of consolation bring no relief. How much 
more harshly do such words grate on the ear when the 
soul is bowed down by remorse and unavailing regret ! 
Then the wounded spirit finds peace nowhere but with 

I saw that the Colonel would be alone, and turning to 
him, as he prepared to follow the strange vehicle, which, 
with its load of death, was already jolting its way over 
the rough forest road, I said, 

" Will you pardon me, if I remain with your friend 
here for awhile ? I will be at the mansion before dark." 

"Oh, certainly, my friend, come when you feel dis- 
posed," he replied, and mounting his horse he was soon 
out of sight among the trees. 

" ]STow, Barnes," I said, shaking off the gloomy feel- 
ings that had oppressed me : " come, I must see that 
wife of yours, and get a glimpse of how you live ?" 

" Sartin, stranger ; come in ; I'll give ye th' tallest 
dinner my 'oman can scare up, an' she's sum pumkins 
in th' cookin' line and he led the way to the farm- 

As I turned to follow, I slipped a half-dollar into the 



hand of the darky who was holding my horse, and asked 
him to put her again into the stable. 

" I'll do dat, sar, but I karn't take dis ; massa doant 
'low it nohow;" he replied, tendering me back the 

" Barnes, your negroes have strange ways ; I never met 
one before who'd refuse money." 

" Wal, stranger, 'taint hosspetality to take money on _ 
yer friends, and Bill gets all he wants from me." 

I took the silver and gave it to the first darky I met, 
who happened to be an old centenarian belonging to 
the Colonel. As I tossed it to him, he grinned out: " Ah, 
massa, I'll git sum 'backer wid dis ; 'pears like I hadn't 
nary a chaw in furty yar." With more than one leg in 
the grave the old negro had not lost his appetite for the 
w r eed — in fact, that and whiskey are the only " luxuries" 
ever known to the plantation black. 

As we went nearer, I took a closer survey of the 
farm-house. It was, as I have said, a low, unpainted 
wooden building, located in the middle of a ten acre lot. 
It w r as approached by a straight walk, paved with a 
mixture of sand and tar, similar to that which the 
reader may have seen in the Champs Elysees. I do 
not know whether my back-woods friend, or the Parisian 
pavior, was the first inventor of this composition, but I 
am satisfied the corn-cracker had not stolen it from the 
stone-cracker. The walk was lined with fruit-bearing 
shrubs, and directly in front of the house, were two 
small flower-beds. 



The dwelling itself, though of a dingy brown wood- 
color, was neat and inviting. It may have been forty 
feet square on the ground, and was only a story and 
a half high, but a projecting roof, and a front dormer- 
window, relieved it from the appearance of dispropor- 
tion. Its gable ends were surmounted by two enormous 
brick chimneys, carried up on the outside, in the fashion 
of the South, and its high, broad windows were orna- 
mented with Venetian blinds. Its front door opened 
directly into the "living-room," and at the threshold 
we met its mistress. 

As the image of that lady has still a warm place in a 
pleasant corner of my memory, I will describe her. She 
was about thirty years of age, and had a fresh, cheerful 
face. To say that she was handsome, would not be 
strictly true ; though she had that pleasant, gentle, kindly 
expression that sometimes makes even a homely person 
seem beautiful. But she was not homely. Her features 
were regular, her hair, glossy and brown, and her eyes, 
black and brilliant, and, for their color, the mildest and 
softest I had ever seen. Her figure was tall, and in its 
outline somewhat sharp and angular, but she had an 
ease and grace about her that made one forget she was 
not moulded as softly and roundly as others. She 
seemed just the woman on whose bosom a tired, worn, 
over-burdened man might lay his weary head, and find 
rest and forgetfulness. 

She wore a neat calico dress, fitting closely to the 
neck, and an apron of spotless white muslin. A little 



lace cap perched cosily on the back of her head, hiding 
a portion of her wavy, dark hair, and on her feet — a 
miracle, reader, in one of her class — were stockings and 
shoes! Giving me her hand — which, at the risk of 
making her husband jealous, I held for a moment— she 
said, making a gentle courtesy : 
" Ye ar welcome, stranger." 

" I sincerely thank you, madam ; I am a stranger in 
these parts." 

She tendered me a chair, while her husband opened a 
sideboard, and brought forth a box of Havanas, and a 
decanter of Scuppernong. As I took the proffered seat, 
he offered me the refreshments. I drank the lady's 
health in the wine, but declined the cigars. Seeing this, 
she remarked : 

" Yer from th' North, sir ; arn't ye?" 

" Yes, madam, I live in New York, but I was born 
in New-England." 

"I reckoned so; I knew ye didn't belong in Car'- 

" How did you know that, madam?" I asked, laughing. 

"I seed ye doan't smoke 'fore whnmin. But ye 
musn't mind me ; I sort o' likes it; its a great comfut to 
John, and may be it ar to ye." 

" Well, I do relish a good cigar, but I never smoko 
before any lady except my wife, and though she's only 
' a little lower than the angels,' she does, once in awhile, 
say it's a shame to make the house smell like a tobacco 



Barnes handed me the box again, and I took one. As 
I was lighting it, he said : 

u Ye've got a good 'oman, hev ye ?" 

" There's none better ; at least, I think so." 

"Wal, I'm 'zactly uv thet 'pinion 'bout mine: I 
wouldn't trade her fur all this worle, an' th' best half 
uv 'tother." 

" Don't ye talk so, John," said the lady ; then address- 
ing me, she added : " It's a good husband thet makes a 
good wife, sir." 

"Sometimes, madam, but not always. I've known 
some of the best of wives who had miserable husbands." 

"An' I'm d d ef I made my wife th' 'oman she ar'," 

said the corn-cracker. 

"Hush, John; ye musn't sw'ar so; ye knows how 
often ye've said ye wouldn't." 

" Wal, I du, an' I wont agin, by . But Sukey, 

wear's th' young 'uns?" 

"Out in the lot, I reckon ; but ye musn't holler'm in — 
they'r all dirt." 

" No matter for that, madam," I said ; " dirt is healthy 
for little ones ; rolling in the mud makes them grow." 

" Then our'n orter grow right smart, fur they'r in it 

" How many have you, madam ?" 

" Two ; a little boy, four, and a little gal, six." 

"They're of interesting ages." 

" Tas, the' is int'restin' ; ev'ry 'uns own chil'ren is 
smart ; but the' does know a heap. John was off ter 



Charl'ston no great while back, an' the little boy used 
ter pray ev'ry mornin' an' ev'nin' fur his fader ter cum 
hum. I larned 'em thet jest so soon as the' talked, 'cause 
thar's no tellin' how quick the' moight be tooken 'way. 
Wal, the little feller prayed ev'ry mornin' an' ev'nin' 
fur his fader ter cum back; an' John didn't cum; so 
finarly he got sort o' provoked with th' Lord ; an' he 
said God war aither deaf, an' couldn't har, or he war 
naughty, an' wouldn't tell fader thet little Johnny want- 
ed to seed 'im 4 werry mooch' " — and here the good lady 
laughed pleasantly, and I joined in most heartily. 

Blessed are the children that have such a mother. 

Soon the husband returned with the little girl and boy, 
and four young ebonies, aU bare-headed, and dressed alike, 
in thick trousers, and a loose linsey shirt. Among them 
was my new acquaintance, " Dandy Jim, of ole Car'lina." 

The little girl came to me, and soon I had two white 
children on one knee, and two black on the other, and 
Dandy Jim between my legs, playing with my watch- 
chain. The family made no distinction between the 
colors, and as the children were all equally clean I did 
not see why I should do so. 

The lady renewed the conversation by remarking: 
" P'raps ye reckon it's quar, sir, that we 'low our'n to 
'sociate 'long with th' black chil'ren ; but we karn't help 
it. On big plantations it works sorry bad, fur th' white 
young 'uns larn all manner of evil from the black 'uns ; 
but I've laboored ter teach our'n so one wont do no harm 
ter 'tother." 



"I suppose, madam, that is one of the greatest evils 
of slavery. The low black poisons the mind of the white 
child, and the bad influence lasts through life." 

" Yas, it's so, stranger ; an' it's the biggest keer I hev. 
It often 'pears strange ter me thet our grow'd up men 
arn't no wuss then the' is." 

In those few words that unlettered woman had said, 
what would — if men Avere but wise enough to hear and 
heed the great truth which she spoke — banish slavery 
from this continent forever ! 

After awhile the farmer told the juvenile delineator of 
Mrs. Hemans, and the other poets, to give us a song; 
and planting himself in the middle of the floor, the little 
darky sang "Dixie," and several other negro songs, 
which his master had taught him, but into which he 
had introduced some amusing variations of his own. 
The other children joined in the choruses ; and then Jim 
danced breakdowns, " walk-along-Joes," and other darky 
dances, his master accompanying him on a cracked fid- 
dle, till my sides were sore with laughter, and the hostess 
begged them to stop. Finally the clock struck twelve, 
and the farmer, going to the door, gave a long, loud blast 
on a cow's horn. In about five minutes one after another 
of the field hands came in, till the whole ten had seated 
themselves on the verandah. Each carried a bowl, a tin- 
cup, or a gourd, into which my host — who soon emerged 
from a back room* with a pail of whiskey in his hand — 

* The whiskey was kept in a back room, above ground, because the dwelling 
Had no cellar. The fluid was kept safely, under lock and key, and the farmer ac- 



poured a gill of the beverage. This was the day's al- 
lowance, and the farmer, in answer to a question of 
mine, told me he thought negroes were healthier, and 
worked better for a small quantity of alcohol daily. 
"The' work hard, and salt feed doant set 'em up 'nough," 
was his remark. 

Meanwhile the hostess busied herself with preparations 
for dinner, and it was soon spread on a bright cherry 
table, covered by a spotless white cloth. The little 
darkies had scattered to the several cabins, and we soon 
sat down to as good a meal as I ever ate at 'the South. 

We were waited on by a tidy negro woman, neatly 
clad in a calico gown, with shoes on her feet, and a flam- 
ing red and yellow 'kerchief on her head. This last was 
worn in the form of a turban, and one end escaping from 
behind, and hanging down her back, it looked for all the 
world like a flag hung out from a top turret. Observing 
it, my host said : 

\f Aggy — showin' yer colors ? Ye'r Union gal — hey?" 

"Yas, I is dat, massa; Union ter de back bone;" re- 
sponded the negress, grinning widely. 

"All th' Union ye knows on," replied the master, 
winking slyly at me, " is th' union yer goin' ter hitch up 
'long with black Cale over ter Squire Taylor's." 

"No, 'taint, massa; takes more'n tu ter make de 

counted for that, by saying that his negroes would steal nothing but whiskey. 
Few country houses at the South have a cellar — that apartment deemed so es- 
sential by Northern housekeepers. The intervening space between the ground 
and the floor is there left open, to allow of a free circulation of air. 



"Yas, I knows — it gin'rally takes ten or a dozen: 
reckon it'll take a dozen with ye." 

M John, ye musn't talk so ter th' sarvents ; it spiles 
*em," said his wife. 

" No it doant — do it, Aggy ?" 

"Lor', missus, I doant keer what massa say; but I 
doant leff no oder man run on so ter me !" 

" No more'n ye 'doant, gal ! only Cale." 

" Nor him, massa ; I makes him stan' roun', Zreckon." 

u I reckon ye du ; ye wudn't be yer niassa's gal ef ye 

When the meal was over, I visited, with my host, the 
negro houses. The hour allowed for dinner* was about 
expiring, and the darkies w r ere preparing to return to 
the field. Entering one of the cabins, where were two 
stout negro men and a woman, my host said to them, 
with a perfectly serious face : 

" Har, boys, I've fetched ye a live Yankee ab'lishener; 
now, luk at 'im all roun'. Did ye ever see sech a critter?" 

" Doant see nufiin' quar in dat gemman, massa," re- 
plied one of the blacks. "Him 'pears like bery nice 
gemman ; doant 'pear like ab'lishener ;" and he laughed, 
and scraped his head in the manner peculiar to the negro, 
as he added: " kinder reckon he wudn't be har ef he war 
one of dem" 

" What der ye knows 'bout th' ab'lisheners ? Ye never 
seed one — what d'ye 'spose the' luk like?" 

* No regular dinner-hour is allowed the blacks on most turpentine plantations. 
Their food i3 usually either taken with them to the woods, or carried thereby 
boose servants, at stated times. 



<c Dey say dey luk likes de bery ole debil, massi , but 
reckon taint so." 

" Wal, the' doant ; the' luk wuss then thet : tbey'm 
bottled up thunder an' lightnin', an' ef the' cum down 
liar, they'll chaw ye all ter hash." 

" I reckon !" replied the darky, manipulating his wool, 
and distending his face into a decidedly incredulous grin. 

" What do you tell them such things for ?" I asked, 

" Lor, bless ye, stranger, the' knows th' ab'lisheners 
ar thar friends, jest so well as ye du ; and so fur as thet 

goes, d d ef the' doan't know I'm one on 'em myseff, 

fur I tells 'em, ef the' want to put, the' kin put, an' I'll 
throw thar trav'lin 'spences inter th' bargin. Doan't I 
tell ye thet, Lazarus." 

"Yas, massa, but none ob massa's nigs am gwine ter 
put — lesswise, not so long as you an' de good missus, 
am 'bove groun'." 

The darky's name struck me as peculiar, and I asked 
him w r here he got it. 

"'TainH my name, sar ; but you see, sar, w'en massa 

fuss hire me ob ole Capt'in , up dar ter Newbern- 

way, I war sort o' sorry like — hadn't no bery good 
cloes — an' massa, he den call me Lazarus, 'case he say I 
war all ober rags and holes, an' it hab sort o' stuck ter 
me eber sense. I war a'mighty bad off 'fore dat, but 
w'en I cum down har I gets inter Abr'am's buzzum, I 
does ;" and here the darky actually reeled on his seat 
with laughter. 



" Is this woman jour wife ?" I asked. 

" No, sar ; my wife 'longs to Cunnel J— — ; dat am my 
new wife — my ole wife am up dar whar I cum from !" 

" What ! have you two wives ?" 

" Yas, massa, I'se two." 

u But that's contrary to Scripture." 

" No, sar; de Cunnel say 'tain't. He say in Scriptur' 
dey hab a heap ob' 'em, and dat niggers kin hab jess so 
many as dey likes — a hun'red ef dey want ter." 

"Does the Colonel teach that to his negroes?" I 
asked, turning to the native. 

" Yas, I reckon he do — an' sits 'em th' 'zample, too," 
he replied, laughing; "but th' old sinner knows better'n 
thet ; he kin read." 

" Do you find that in the Bible, Lazarus ?" 

" Yas, massa ; whar I reads it. Dat's whar it tell 
*bout David and Sol'mon and all dem — dey hab a heap 
ob wives. A pore ole darky karn't hab 'nuffin 'sides 
dem, an' he orter be 'low'd jess so many as he likes." 

Laughing at the reasoning of the negro, I asked : 

"How would you like it, if your wife over at Colonel 
J 's, had as many husbands as she liked ?" 

" Wal, I couldn't fine no fault, massa : an' I s'pose 
she do ; dough I doan't knows it, 'case I'se dar only 

" Have you any children ?" 

" Yas, sar ; I'se free 'longin' ter de Cunnel, an' four 
or five — I doant 'zactly know — up ter hum ; but dey^se 
grow'd up." 



" Is your wife, up there, married again ?" 

u Yas, massa, she got anoder man jess w'en I cum 
'way ; har ole massa make har do it." 

We then left the cabin, and when out of hearing of 
the blacks, I said to the corn-cracker : " That may he, 
Scripture doctrine, but I have not been taught so !" 

" Scriptur or no Scriptur, stranger, it's d d hea- 
thenism," replied the farmer, who, take him all in all, 
is a superior specimen of the class of small-planters 
at the South ; and yet, seeing polygamy practised by 
his own slaves, he made no effort to prevent it. He 
told me that if he should object to his darky cohabiting 
with the Colonel's negress, it would be regarded as un- 
neighborly, and secure him the enmity of the whole 
district ! And still we are told that slavery is a Divine 
institution ! 

After this, we strolled off into the woods, where the 
hands were at work. They were all stout, healthy 
and happy-looking, and in answer to my comments on 
their appearance, the native said that the negroes on the 
turpentine farms are always stronger and longer-lived, 
than those on the rice and cotton-fields. Unless carried 
off by the fevers incident to the climate, they generally 
reach a good old age, while the rice-negro seldom lives 
to be over forty, and the cotton-slave very rarely attains 
sixty. Cotton-growing, however, my host thought, is 
not, in itself, much more unhealthy than turpentine- 
gathering, though cotton-hands work in the sun, while 
the turpentine slaves labor altogether in the shade* 



" But," lie said, " the' work 'em harder nor we does, an' 
doan't feed 'em so well. We give our'n meat and 
whiskey ev'ry day, but them articles is skarse 'mong 
th' cotton blacks, an' th' rice niggers never get 'em 
excep' ter Chris'mas time, an' thet cums but oust a 

" Do you think the white could labor as well as the 
black, on the rice and cotton-fields ?" I asked. 

"Yas, an' better — better onywhar; but, in coorse, 
'tain't natur' fur black nor white ter stand long a workin' 
in th' mud and water up ter thar knees ; sech work 
wud kill off th' very devil arter a while. But th' white 
kin stand it longer nor the black, and its' 'cordin' ter 
reason that he shud ; fur, I reckon, stranger, that the 
sperit and pluck uv a man hev a durned sight ter du 
with work. They'll hole a man up when he's clean 
down, an' how kin we expec' thet the pore nig', who's 
nary a thing ter work fur, an' who's been kept under 
an' 'bused ever sense Adam was a young un' — how kin 
we expec' he'll work like men thet own 'emselfs, an' 
whose faders hev been free ever sense creation? 1 
reckon that the parient has a heap ter du with makin' 
th' chile. He puts the sperit inter 'im : doan't we see 
it in hosses an' critters an' sech like ? It mayn't crap 
eout ter onst, but it's shore ter in th' long run, and 
thet's th' why th' black hain't no smarter nor he is. 
He's been a-ground down an' kept under fur so long 
thet it '11 take more'n 'un gin' ration ter bring him up. 
'Tain't his fault thet he's no more sperit, an' p'raps 



'tain't ourn — thet is, them on us as uses 'em right — but 
it war the fault uv yer fader an' mine — yer fader stole 
'em, and mine bought 'em, an' the' both made cattle uv: 

" But I had supposed the black was better fitted by 
nature for hard labor, in a hot climate, than the white ?" 

" Wal, he arn't, an' I knows it. Th' d d parsons 

an' pol'tishuns say thet, but 'tain't so. I kin do half 
agin more work in a day then th' best nig' I've got, an 
I've dun it, tu, time an' agin, an' it didn't hurt me 
nother. Ye knows ef a man hev a wife and young 'uns 
'pendin' on him, an' arn't much 'forehanded, he'll work 
like th' devil. I've dun it, and ye hev ef ye war ever 
put ter it ; but th T nig's, why the' hain't got no wives 
and young 'uns ter work fur — the law doan't 'low 'em 
ter hev any — the' hain't nary a thing but thar carcasses, 
an' them's thar masters'." 

" You^ay a man works better for being free; then 
you must think 'twould be well to free the negroes ?" 

" In coorse, I does. Jest luk at them nig's o' mine ; 
they're ter all 'tents an' purposes free, 'case I use 'em 
like men, an' the' knows the' kin go whenever the' 

d d please. See how the' work — why, one on 'em 

does half as much agin as ony hard-driv' nigger in 

" What would you do with them, if they were really 
free ?" 

" Du with 'em ? why, hire 'em, an' make twice as 
much eout on 'em as I does now." 



" But I don't think the two races were meant to live 

" No more'n the' warn't. But 'tain't thar fault thet 
they's har. We hain't no right ter send 'em off. We 
orter stand by our'n an' our fader s' doin's. The nig' 
keers more fur his hum, so durned pore -as it ar', then 
ye or I does fur our'n. I'd pack sech off ter Libraria 
or th' devil, as wanted ter go, but I'd hev no 'pulsion 
'bout it." 

"Why, my good friend, you're half-brother to Gar- 
rison. You don't talk to your neighbors in this way ?" 

" Wal, I doan't.;" he replied, laughing. "Ef I dun 
it, they'd treat me to a coat uv tar, and ride me out uv 
th' deestrict raather sudden, I reckon ; but yer a Nuth- 
ener, an' the' all take nat' rally ter freedum, excep 5 

th' d d dough-faces, an' ye aren't one on 'em, I'll 


" Well, I'm not. Do many of your neighbors think 
as you do ?" 

"Reckon not many round har; but up in Cart'ret, 
whar I cum from, heaps on 'em do, though the' darn't 
say so." 

By this time we had reached the still, and, directing 
his attention to the enormous quantity of rosin that had 
been run into the pit which I have spoken of, I asked 
him why he threw so much valuable material away. 

" Wal, 'tain't wuth nothin' har. Thet's th' common, 
an' it won't bring in York, now, more'n a dollar forty- 
five. It costs a dollar an' two bits ter get it thar, and 



pay fur sellin' on it, an' th' barrTs wuth th' difF'rence 
I doan't ship nuthin wuss nor No. 2." 
" What is No. 2 ?" 

He took the head from one of the barrels, and with 
an adze cut out a small piece, then handing me the speci- 
men, replied : 

" Now hole thet up ter th' sun. Ye'll see though its 
yaller, it's clean and clar. Thet's good No. 2, what brings 
now two dollars and two bits, in York, an' pays me 
'bout a dollar a barr'l, its got eout o' second yar dip, an' 
as it comes eout uv th' still, is run through thet ar strainer,' 
pointing to a coarse wire seive that lay near. u Th' 
common rosum, thet th' still's runnin' on now, is made 
eout on th' yaller dip — thet's th' kine d' turpentine thet 
runs from' th' tree arter two yars' tappin' — we call it 
yallar dip ca'se it's allers dark. We doant strain com- 
mon 't all, an' it's full uv chips and dirt. It's low now, but 
ef it shud ever git up, I'd tap thet ar' heap, barr'l it up, 
run a little fresh stilled inter it, an' 'twould be a'most so 
good as new." 

" Then it is injured by being in the ground." 

" Not much ; it's jest as good fur ev'rything but mak- 
in' ile, puttin it in the 'arth sort o' takes th' sap eout on 
it, an' th' sap's th' ile. Natur' sucks thet eout, I s'pose, 
ter make th' trees grow — I expec' my bones 'ill fodder 
'em one on these days." 

" Jiosin is put to very many uses ?" 

" Yes, but common's used mainly for ile and soap, th' 
Yankees put it inter hard yaller soap, 'case it makes it 



*veigh, an' yer folks is up ter them doin's," and he looked 
at me and gave a sly laugh. I could not deny the " hard" 
impeachment, and said nothing. Taking a specimen of 
very clear light-colored rosin from a shelf in the still- 
house, I asked him what that quality was worth. 

" Thet ar brought seven dollars, for two hundred an' 
eighty pounds, in York, airly this yar. It's th' very best 
No. 1 ; an' its hard ter make, 'case ef th' still gets over- 
het it turns it a tinge. Thet sort is run through two 
sieves, the coarse 'un, an' thet ar," pointing to another 
wire strainer, the meshes of which were as fine as those 
of the flour sieve used by housewives. 

" Do your seven field hands produce enough i dip' to 
keep your still a running ?" 

" No, I buys th' rest uv my naboors who haint no 
stills; an' th' Cunnel's down on- me 'case I pay 'em 
more'n he will; but I go on Franklin's princerpel: 'a 
nimble sixpence's better'n a slow shillin.' A great ole 
feller thet, warn't he ? I've got his life." 

" And you practice on his precepts ; that's the reason 
you've got on so well." 

" Yas, thet, an' hard knocks. The best o' doctrin's 
arn't wuth a d n ef ye doan't work on 'em." 

" That is true." 

We shortly afterward went to the house, and there I 
passed several hours in conversation with my new friend 
and his excellent wife. The lady, after a while, showed 
me over the building. It was well-built, well-arranged, 
and had many conveniences I did not expect to find in a 


back-woods dwelling. She told me its timbers and 
covering were of well-seasoned yellow pine — which will 
last for centuries — and that it was built by a Yankee car- 
penter, whom they had " 'ported" from Charleston, pay- 
ing his fare, and giving him his living, and two dollars 
and a half a day. It had cost as near as she " cud reckon, 
'bout two thousan' dollars." 

It was five o'clock, when, shaking them warmly by the 
hand, I bade my pleasant friends "good-bye," and 
mounting my horse rode off to the Colonel's. 





The family were at supper when I returned to the 
mansion, and, entering the room, I took my accustomed 
place at the table. None present seemed disposed to 
conversation. The little that was said was spoken in a 
low, subdued tone, and no allusion was made to the 
startling event of the day. At last the octoroon woman 
asked me if I had met Mrs. Barnes at the farmer's. 

" Yes," I replied, " and I was greatly pleased with her. 
She seems one of those rare women who would lend 
grace to even the lowest station." 

" She is a rare woman ; a true, sincere Christian. 
Every one loves her ; but few know all her worth ; only 
those do who have gone to her in sorrow and trial, as — " 
* and her voice trembled, and her eyes moistened — " as I 

And so that poor, outcast, despised, dishonored 
woman, scorned and cast-off by all the world, had 
found one sympathizing, pitying friend. Truly, "He 
tempers \j^e wind to the shorn lamb." 

When the meal was over, all but Madam P re 

tired to the library. Tommy and I fell to reading, but 
the Colonel shortly rose and continued pacing up and 



down the apartment till the clock sounded eight. The 
lady then entered, and said to him. 

"The negroes are ready, David; will you go, Mr. 
K ?" 

"I think not, madam," I replied ; "at least not now." 

I continued reading, for a time, when, tiring of the 
book, I laid it down, and followed them to the little 

The grave of Sam was open, and the plantation blacks 
were gathered around it. In the centre of the group, 
and at the head of the rude coffin, the Colonel was 
seated, and near him the octoroon woman and her son. 
The old preacher was speaking. 

" My chil'ren," he said : " she hab gone ter Him, wid 
har chile : gone up dar, whar dey doan't sorrer no more, 
whar dey doan't weep no more, whar all tears am wiped 
from dar eyes foreber. I knows she lay han's on har- 
6eff, and dat, my chil'ren, am whot none ob us shud do, 
'case we'm de Lord's ; He put us har, an' he'll take us 
'way when we's fru wid our work, not afore. We hab 
no right ter gwo afore. Pore Juley did — but p'raps 
she cudn't help it. P'raps de great sorrer war so big in 
har heart, dat she cudn't fine restnowhar but in de cole, 
dark riber. P'raps she warn't ter blame — p'raps," and 
here his eyes filled : " p'raps ole Pomp war all ter blame, 
fur I tole har, my chil'ren" — he could say no »ore, and 
sinking down on a rude seat, he covered his face, and 
sobbed audibly. Even the Colonel's strong frame heaved 
with emotion, and not a dry eye was near. After a time 



the old man rose again, and with streaming eyes, and 
upturned face., continued : 

"Dars One up dar, my chiTren, dat say : 'Come unter 
Me, all ye dat am a weary an' a heaby laden, an' I will gib 
you ress.' He, de good Lord, He say dat ; and p'raps 
Juley hard Him say it, an' dat make liar gwo." Again 
his voice failed, and he sank down, weeping and moaning 
as if his heart would break. 

A pause followed, when the Colonel rose, and aided 
by Jim and two other blacks, with Ins own hands nailed 
down the lid, and lowered the rude coffin into the ground. 
Then the earth was thrown upon it, and then the long, 
low chant which the negroes raise over the dead, ming- 
ling now with sobs and moans, and breaking into a 
strange wild wail, went up among the pines, and floating 
off on the still night air, echoed through the dark 
woods, till it sounded like music from the grave. I 
have been in the chamber of the dying; I have seen 
the young and the beautiful laid away in the earth ; but 
I never felt the solemn awfulness of death, as I did, 
when, in the stillness and darkness of night, I listened 
to the wild grief of that negro group, and saw the 
bodies of that slave mother and her child, lowered to 
their everlasting rest by the side of Sam. 





The morning broke bright and mellow with the rays 
of the winter sun, which in Carolina lends the warmth 
of October to the chills of January, when, with my port- 
manteau strapped, and my thin overcoat on my arm, I 
gave my last "God bless you" to the octoroon woman, 
and turned my face toward home. 

Jim shouted "all ready," the driver cracked his whip, 
and we were on our way to Georgetown. 

The recent rains had hardened the roads, the bridges 
were repaired, and we were whirled rapidly forward, 
and, at one o'clock, reached Bucksville. There we met 
a cordial welcome, and remained to dinner. Our host 
pressed us to pass the night at his house, but the Colonel 
had business with one of his secession friends residing 
down the road — my wayside acquaintance, Colonel 

A , and desired to stay overnight with him. At 

three o'clock, bidding a kindly farewell to Captain B 

and his excellent family, we were again on ou^way. 

The sun was just sinking among the western pines, 
when we turned into a broad avenue, lined with stately 
old trees, and rode up to the door- way of the rice- 



planter. It was a large, square, dingy old house, seated 
on a gentle knoll, a short half-mile from the river, along 
whose banks stretched the rice-fields. We entered, and 
were soon welcomed by its proprietor. 

He received my friend warmly, and gave me a courte- 
ous greeting, remarking, when I mentioned that I was 
homeward bound, that it was wise to go. " Things are 
very unsettled ; there's no telling what a day may bring 
forth ; feeling is running very high, and a Northern 
man, whatever his principles, is not safe here. By-the- 
way," he added, "did you not meet with some little 
obstruction at Conwayboro', on your way up ?" 

"Yes, I did ; a person there ordered me back, but 
when things began to look serious, Scipio, the negro 
whom you saw with me, got me out of the hobble." 

" Didn't he tell the gentleman that you were a par- 
ticular friend of mine, and had met me by appointment 
at Captain B 's ?" he asked, smiling. 

"I believe he did, sir; but I assure you, I said 
nothing of the kind, and I think the black should not be 
blamed, under the circumstances." 

" Oh, no ; I don't blame him. I think he did a smart 
thing. He might have said you were my grandmother, 
if it would have served you, for that low fellow is as 
fractious as the devil, and dead sure on the? trigger." 

"You are very good, sir," I replied: "how did you 
hear of it ?" 

" A day or two afterward, B passtxl here on his 

way to Georgetown. I had been riding out, an4 hap- 



pened to be at the head of my avenue when he was 
going by. He stopped, and asked if I knew you. Not 
knowing, then, the circumstances, I said that I had met 
you casually at Bucksville, but had no particular ac- 
quaintance with you. He rode on, saying nothing 
further. The next morning, I had occasion to go to 
Georgetown, and at Mr. Fraser's office, accidentally 
heard that Scip — who is well-known and universally liked 
there — was to have a public whipping that evening. 
Something prompted me to inquire into it, and I was 

told that he had been charged by B with shilling 

a well-known abolitionist at Conwayboro' — a man who 
was going through the up-country, distributing such 
damnable publications as the New York Independent 
and Tribune. I knew, of course, it referred to you, and 
that it wasn't true. I went to Scip and got the facts, 
and by stretching the truth a little, finally got him 
off. There was a slight discrepancy between my two 
accounts of you" (and here he laughed heartily), "and 

B , when we were before the Justice, remarked on it, 

and came d d near calling me a liar. It was lucky 

he didn't, for if he had, he'd have gone to h — 1 before 
the place was hot enough for him.'' 

" I cannot tell you, my dear sir, how grateful I am to 
you for this. It would have pained me more than I can 
express, if Scip had suffered for doing a disinterested 
kindness to me." 

Early in the morning we were again on our way, and 
Swelve o'clock found us seated at a dinner of bacon, 



corn-bread, and waffles, in the " first hotel" of George- 
town. The Charleston boat was to leave at three o'clock; 
and, as soon as dinner was over, I sallied out to find Scip. 
After a half-hour's search I found him on u Shackelford's 
wharf," engaged in loading a schooner bound for New 
York with a cargo of cotton and turpentine. 

He was delighted to see me, and when-I had told him 
I was going home, and might never see him again, I took 
his hand warmly in mine, and said : 

" Scip, I have heard of the disgrace that was near 
being put upon you on my account, and I feel deeply 
the disinterested service you did to me ; now, I can not 
go away without doing something for you — showing you 
in some way that I appreciate and like you." 

" I like's you, massa," he replied, the tears coming to 
his eyes: "I tuk ter you de bery fuss day I seed you, 
'case, I s'pose," and he wrung my hand till it ached : 
" you pitied de pore brack man. But you karnt do nuf- 
fin fur me, massa ; I doant want nuffin ; I doant want 
ter leab har, 'case de Lord dat put me har, arn't willin' 
I shud gwo. But you kin do suflin, massa, fur de pore 
brack man, — an' dat '11 be doin' it fur me, 'case my heart 
am all in dat. You kin tell dem folks up dar, whar you 
lib, massa, dat we'm not like de brutes, as dey tink we is. 
Dat we's got souls, an' telligence, an' feelin's, an' am men 
like demselfs. You kin tell 'em, too, massa, — 'case 
you's edication, and kin talk — how de pore wite man 
'am kep' down har ; how he'm ragged, an' starvin', an' 
ob no account, 'case de brack man am a slave. How der 



ehil'ren can't get no schulein', how eben de grow'd up 
ones doan't know nuffin — not eben so much as de pore 
brack slave, 'case de 'stockracy wan't dar votes, an cudn't 
get 'em ef dey 'low'd 'em laming. Ef your folks know'd 
all de trufh — ef dey know'd how both de brack an' de 
pore w'ite man, am on de groun', and can't git up, ob 
demselfs — dey'd do suffix — dey'd break de Constertu- 
tion — dey'd do suffin! ter help us. I doant want no 
one hurted, I doant want no one wronged; but jess 
tink ob it, massa, four million ob bracks, and nigh so 
many pore wites, wid de bressed gospil shinin' down on 
'em, an' dey not knowin' on it. All dem — ebry one of 
'em — made in de image ob de great God, an' dey driven 
roun', an' 'bused wuss dan de brutes. Tou's seed dis, 
massa, wid your own eyes, an' you kin tell 'em on it ; 
an' you will tell 'em on it, massa ;" and again he took 
my hand while the tears rolled down his cheeks ; " an' 
Scip will bress you fur it, massa; wid his bery lass breaf 
he'll bress you ; an' de good Lord will bress you, too, 
massa ; He will foreber bress you, fur He'm on de side 
ob de pore, an' de 'flicted : His own book say dat, an' it 
am true, I knows it, fur I feels it harf and he laid his 
hand on his heart, and was silent. 

I could not speak for a moment. When I mastered 
my feelings, I said, "I will do it Scip ; as God gives mo 
strength, I will? 

Reader, I am keeping my word. 





This is not a work of fiction. It is a record of facts, 
and therefore the reader will not expect me to dispose 
of its various characters on artistic principles — that is, 
lay them away in one of those final receptacles for the 
creations of the romancer — the grave and matrimony. 
Death has been among them, but nearly all are yet do- 
ing their work in this breathing, busy world. 

The characters I have introduced are real. They are 
not drawn with the pencil of fancy, nor, I trust, colored 
with the tints of prejudice. The scenes I have described 
are true. I have taken some liberties with the names of 
persons and places, and, in a few instances, altered dates ; 
but the events themselves occurred under my own obser- 
vation. No c ne acquainted with the section of country 
I have described, or familiar with the characters I have 
delineated, will question this statement. Lest some one 
who has not seen the slave and the poor white man of 
the South, as he actually is, should deem my picture 
overdrawn, I will say that " the half has not been told !" 
If the whole were related — if the Southern system, in 
all its naked ugliness, were fully exposed — the truth 



would read like fiction, and the baldest relation of fact 
like the wildest dream of romance. 

The overseer was never taken. A letter which I re- 
ceived from Colonel J -, shortly prior to the stop- 
page of the mails, informed me that Moye had succeeded 
in crossing the mountains into Tennessee, where, in an in- 
terior town, he disposed of the horse, and then made his 
way by an inland route to the free states. The horse 
the Colonel had recovered, but the overseer he never 
expected to see. Moye is now, no doubt, somewhere in 
the North, and is probably at this present writing a 
zealous Union man, of somewhat the same " stripe" as 
the conductors of the New York Herald and the Boston 

I have not heard directly from Scipio, but one day 
last July, after a long search, I found on one of the 
wharves of" South Street, a coasting captain, who knew 
him well, and who had seen him the month previous at 
Georgetown. He was at that time pursuing his usual 
avocations, and was as much respected and trusted, as 
when I met him. 

A few days after the tidings of the fall of Sumter 
were received in New York, and when I had witnessed 
the spontaneous and universal uprising of the North, 
which followed that event, I dispatched letters to several 
of my Southern friends, giving them as near as I could 
an account of the true state of feeling here, and repre- 
senting the utter madness of the course the South was 



pursuing. One of these letters went to my Union ac- 
quaintance whom I have called, in the preceding pages, 
" Andy Jones." 

He promptly replied, and a pretty regular correspond- 
ence ensued between us, which has continued, at inter- 
vals, even since the suspension of intercourse between 
the North and the South. 

Andy has stood firmly and nobly by the old flag. At 
the risk of every thing, he has boldly expressed his sen- 
timents everywhere. With his life in his hand, and — a 
revolver in each of his breeches-pockets, he walked the 
streets of Wilmington when the secession fever was at 
its height, openly proclaiming his undying loyalty to 
the Union, and "no man dared gainsay him." 

But with all his patriotism, Andy keeps a bright eye 
on the " main chance." Like his brother, the Northern 
Yankee, whom he somewhat resembles and greatly ad- 
mires, he never omits an opportunity of " turning an 
honest penny." In defiance of custom-house regulations, 
and of our strict blockade, he has carried on a more or 
less regular traffic with New York and Boston (via 
Halifax and other neutral ports), ever since North Caro- 
lina seceded. His turpentine — while it was still his 
property — has been sold in the New York market, 
under the very eyes of the government officials — and, 
honest reader, I have known of it. 

By various roundabout means, I have recently re- 
ceived letters from him. His last, dated in April, and 
brought to a neutral port by a shipmaster whom he 



implicitly trusts, has reached me since the previous 
chapters were written. It covers, six pages of foolscap, 
and is written in defiance of all grammatical and ortho- 
graphical principles ; but as it conveys important intelli- 
gence, in regard to some of the persons mentioned in 
this narrative, I will transcribe a portion of it. 

It gave me the melancholy tidings of the death of 

Colonel J . He had joined the Confederate army, 

and fell, bravely meeting a charge of the Massachusetts 
troops, at Roanoke. 

On receiving the news of his friend's death, Andy 

rode over to the plantation, and found Madam P ■ 

plunged in the deepest grief. While he was there a 
letter arrived from Charleston, with intelligence of the 
dangerous illness of her son. This second blow crushed 
her. For several days she was delirious, and her life 
despaired of; but throughout the whole the noble corn- 
cracker, neglecting every thing, remained beside her. 

When she returned to herself, and had in a measure 
recovered her strength, she learned that the Colonel had 
left no will ; that she was still a slave ; and soon to be 
sold, with the rest of the Colonel's personal property, 
according to law. 

This is what Andy writes about the affair. I give the 
letter as he wrote it, merely correcting the punctuation, 
and enough of the spelling, to make it intelligible. 

" W'en I hard thet th' Cunel hadent leff no wil, I was 
hard put what ter dew ; but arter thinkin' on it over a 
spell, I knowed shede har on it sumhow ; so I 'eluded to 



tel har miseff. She tuk on d d hard at fast, but artei 

a bit, grew more calm like, and then she sed it war God's 
wil, an' she wudent komplane. Ye nows I've got a wife, 
but wen the ma'am sed thet, she luk'd so like an angel, 

thet d d eff I cud help puttin' my arms round har, 

an' hugin' on har, till she a'moste screeched. Wal, I 
toled har, Id stan' by har eff evrithing w^nt ter h — 1 — 

an I wil, by . 

"I made up mi minde to onst, what ter dew. It war 
darned harde work tur bee 'way from hum jess then, but 
I war in fur it ; soe I put ter Charleston, ter see th' 
Cunel's 'oman. Wal, I seed har, an' I toled har how th' 
ma'am felte, an' how mutch shede dim at makein' th' 
Cunel's money — (she made nigh th' hul on it, 'case he 
war alers keerles, an' tuk no 'count uv things ; eff tadent 
ben fur thet, hede made a wil,) an' I axed har ter see 
thet the ma'am had free papers ter onst. An' whot der 

ye 'spoze she sed ? Nuthin, by 'cept she dident 

no nuthin' 'bout bisniss, an' leff all uv sech things ter har 
loryer. "Wal, then I went ter him — he ar one on them 
slick, ily, seceshun houn's, who'd sell thar soles fur a 
kountterfit dollar — an' he toled me, th' 'ministratur had- 
ent sot yit, an' he cudent dew nuthin til he hed. Ses I : 
4 ye mean th' 'ooman's got ter gwo ter th' hi'est bider ?' 
c Yas,' he sed, 'the Cunel's got dets, an' the've got ter 
bee pade, an' th' persoonel prop'ty muste bee sold ter 
dew it.' Then I sed, 'twud bee sum time fore thet war 
dun, an' the 'ooman's 'most ded an' uv no use now ; 
4 what'll ye hire har tur me fur.' He sed a hun'red for 



sicks months. I planked down the money ter onst, an* 
put off. 

" I war bilin' over, but it sumhow cum inter my hed 
thet the Cunnel's 'ooman cudn't bee all stun ; so I gose 
thar agin ; an' I toled har what the loryer sed, an' made a 
reg'lar stump-'peal tew har bettar natur. I axed har 
eff she'd leff the 'ooman who'd made har husban's fortun, 
who war the muther ov his chiTren, who fur twenty 
yar, hed nussed him in sickness, an' cheered him in 
healtf ; ef shede let thet 'ooman, bee auckyund off ter 
th' hi'est bider. I axed al thet, an' what der ye think she 
sed, Why jest this. c / doant no nuthin' bout it, Mis- 
ter Jones. Ye raily must talke ter mi loryer; them 
maters I leaves 'tirely ter him.' Then, I sed, I 'spozed 
the niggers war ter bee advertist. ' O, yas !' she sed, 

(an' ye see, she know'd a d d site 'bout thet), 1 all 

on 'em muss be solde, 'case, ye knows, I never did luv 
the kuntry, — 'sides J cud'ent karry on the plantashun, 
no how.' Then, sed I:/ the Orlean's traders 'ill be 
thar — an' she wunt sell fur but one use, fur she's han- 
sum yit ; an' ma'am, ye wunt leff a 'ooman as white as 
you is, who fur twenty yar, hes ben a tru an' fatheful 
wife tar yer own ded husban,' (I shudn't hev put thet in, 

but d d ef I cud help it,) ye wunt put har up on the 

block, an' hev har struck down ter the hi'est bider, ter 

bee made a d d on?' 

Wal, I s'pose she hadent forgot thet, fur more'n 
twelve yar, the Cunnel hed luv'd t'other 'ooman, an' 
onely liked har ; fur w'en I sed thet, har ize snapped 



like h — 1, an' she screetched eout thet she dident 'low 
no sech wurds in har hous', an' ordurd me ter leave. 
Mi'tey sqeemish thet, warn't it ? bein' as shede ben fur 

so mony yar the Cunnel's , an' th' tuther one his 

raal wife. 

" Wal, I did leav' ; but I left a piece of mi mind 
a-hind. I toled har I'de buy that ar 'ooman ef she cost 
all I war wuth and I had ter pawne my sole ter git the 
money ; an' I added, jess by way ov sweet'nin' the pill, 
thet I ow'd all I hed ter har husband, an' dident furget 
my debts ef she did herhi, an' ef his own wife disgraced 
him, I'd be d d ef Zwud. 

" Wal, I've got th' ma'am an' har boy ter hum, an' 
my 'ooman hes tuk ter har a heep. I doant no w'en the 
sale's ter cum off, but ye may bet hi' on my beein' thar ; 
an' I'll buy har ef I hev ter go my hull pile on har, an' 
borrer th' money fur ole Pomp. But he'll go cheap, 
'case the Cunnel's deth nigh dun him up. It clean 
killed Ante Lucey. She never held her hed up arter she 
heerd 1 Masser Davy' war dead, fur she sot har vary life 
on him. Don't ye fele consarned 'bout the ma'am — I 
knows ye sot hi' on har — I'll buy har, shore. Thet 
an' deth ar th' onely things thet I knows on, in this 
wurld, jess now, that ar sahtin." 

Such is Andy's letter. Mis-spelled and profane though 
it be, I would not alter a word or a syllable of it. It 
deserves to be written in characters of gold, and hung 
up in the sky, where it might be read by all the world. 
And it is written in the sky — in the great record-book— 


and it will be read when you and I, reader, meet the 
assembled universe, to give account of what we have 
done and written. God grant that our record may show 
some such deed as that !